But his business with Megilido Fass was by no means finished.
Blaine knew his wounds would prove extremely restricting but with stealth and cleverness he could do what had to be done. McCracken wanted Fass now more than anything, including the Atragon. He neither enjoyed nor loathed killing. But taking the life of a man who placed no value on life, who had slit the throat of an innocent boy just as easily as he would have swatted a fly, would give Blaine satisfaction. He could not lie to himself about that.
Near midnight, Blaine eased gingerly out of his position. He made his way to the Labyrinth entrance and opened the door a crack. The night was moonless, but light poured out of the house, making a direct approach impossible. Blaine’s first thought was to short out the fuse box, but he realized such a move would only result in Fass’s tightening security to an impossible degree.
That left a one-man commando assault as his only option. Blaine opened the door a bit more.
There was one guard posted between the Labyrinth and the tall row of bushes enclosing it. What a blessing! Blaine sighed slightly with relief; he would not have to kill the man to move on to the next phase.
He eased himself through the door, careful to make sure it closed softly behind him. Keeping his frame low and avoiding the light as much as possible, he glided soundlessly over the mist-coated grass.
The man’s head was turned the other way when McCracken lunged and seized him in a hold across the carotid artery designed to shut off the flow of oxygen to the brain. Ten seconds was all it took for a well-skilled professional, and the guard was disabled silently with a minimum of fuss.
Seconds later, the guard’s white uniform had been pulled over Blaine’s bloodied clothes. He left the rifle but pocketed the man’s knife and stuffed his pistol into the tight belt. The shoes were tight as well, but they would do. McCracken took up the man’s post and at the last second elected to sling the rifle over his shoulder on the chance that he was seen. He peered out through the narrow break in the bushes toward Fass’s mansion. The sight distressed him. Three guards were in plain view, all too well spaced to be simply overcome. With no time left for further consideration, Blaine left the rifle behind and passed through the opening into the mansion’s backyard, again keeping his frame as low as possible.
The light was his greatest foe now, as he studied the routine of the guard closest to him on the right. The man’s territory seemed to run from the start of the veranda to the far edge of the kidney-shaped swimming pool. He could tell this guard’s steps were bored and laconic. That would work for him.
Staying close to the bushes for as long as he could, Blaine edged on, closing the distance to the pool as directly as possible. Then he waited for the guard to finish his patrol of that area and start back for the veranda before sprinting toward the cover of the cabanas. The rest was a matter of waiting … and moving at the correct moment.
The guard turned at the veranda and started lazily back, almost retracing his steps. Blaine counted the seconds to distract himself before lunging at the precise instant the guard passed into the shadows. A sharp blow to the rear of this guard’s head, followed swiftly by a second blow to ensure unconsciousness. The only sound was a muffled gasp, barely finished when McCracken began dragging the frame into the cover of the cabanas. Now the next step.
“Over here! Over here!”
Blaine’s voice was raised with concern, not panic, nothing that would make the other guards use their radios before approaching. Blaine would have said more if his knowledge of Greek had not been so limited. He had to hope it was enough.
He heard the remaining two guards’ feet pounding toward him, and he didn’t look back for fear they might see his face in time to respond. As it was, they realized nothing until Blaine swung. They were very close together, which made his task even easier. He lashed out at the nearest just to stun; a stiff blow to the nose was more than sufficient to buy him the time required to launch a crunching kick into the groin of the other. The first was staggering when Blaine finished him with a knee rammed into a face forced downward to meet it. The second was on his knees going for his pistol when Blaine cracked an elbow across his temple and ear.
All obstacles to the mansion were now eliminated. He had to hope the uniform would be enough to get him by once he was inside. A quick, painful sprint brought him to the rear entrance. The door was locked but a knife blade lifted off one of the guards was narrow enough to work between the gap. Then he was inside, searching for the steps he had descended under armed escort hours before.
He found them quickly and ascended at a restrained pace. He was certain there would be a guard at the top and wished to do nothing which might make the man confront him. As it was, Blaine simply walked by the staircase guard, who seemed not interested at all in another uniformed figure. Blaine headed directly to Fass’s office and found two guards before the door with rifles at the ready. McCracken fought against hesitation and kept walking.
They regarded him only briefly as he moved by them, dismissing his presence much too early. Blaine pivoted and lunged in the same instant, driving his blade into the nearest man’s chest as the man on the other side of the door swung his rifle up and around. The move was foolish because it took much too long to execute; rifles were too bulky to be effective in close. Blaine rammed a set of rigid knuckles into his windpipe, shattering cartilage and forcing the man’s Adam’s apple into his airway. A second blow to the head forced the guard into unconsciousness.
Fass made the rest easy for him.
McCracken heard the door being unbolted from the inside and pressed himself against the wall.
“What’s going on out—”
Still clad in his white suit but lacking the tie now, Fass stuck his head out just far enough to see his guards on the ground. He was attempting to pull back and close the door when Blaine sprang, cracking him in the face with an iron fist which propelled the Greek backwards. Seconds later, the corpses of both guards lay against the wall in Fass’s office, and McCracken was grasping his slick hair to yank him to his feet. Trembling with rage, he pressed the bloody edge of his knife against the Greek’s throat.
“Wanna get your death on camera, friend? Might make for good viewing later.”
“No!” Fass pleaded. “Anything! Anything!”
“Too late for generosity. Just answer my questions. First a story. A small-time bandit robbed some crystals from you. That sound familiar?”
Fass nodded fearfully, eyes bulging as he struggled to swallow.
“They were dark red, lined with many crevices and grooves, yes?”
Another nod.
“Where did you get them?” When Fass remained silent, Blaine jolted him across the room until his back was bent over his own desk. Behind it, Blaine could see the huge patch of blood left from the boy’s murder. He pressed the blade a little closer. “Talk!”
“They were sent to me from Morocco. They were sent to many people in my field.”
“Why?”
“To solicit bids for the remaining reserves.”
“You mean you don’t have any more?”
“Just the ones that were stolen. I swear!”
“Then the rest are in Morocco?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’re lying!” Blaine drew a thin line of blood on the Greek’s neck.
“No! No! I’m telling the truth. We were told to take the crystals to our own scientific people for testing. This is months ago, months! I learned they were an incredible energy source, with the potential for a devastating new weapon. Whoever possessed it could obtain a position of incredible power.”