Nobody there. He checked behind a nearby tree with the same lack of result. ‘Clear here,’ he announced, continuing across the grass.
Overton followed a path into the garden, checking behind the hedges and bushes. No sign of the Englishman, or the case containing the angel. He moved under a large tree, glad of the brief respite from the downpour. The speedboat’s driver was cold and thoroughly damp despite his rain cape. ‘Anything?’ he whispered, peering into the shadows. As he had not gone into the museum, his headset had not needed a camera; something he was now regretting, as those observing at the Mission could have warned him if the Brit was skulking in the darkness.
‘Not yet,’ Whelan reported.
‘Me neither. Pick up the pace,’ ordered Trant.
Overton continued under the trees. He glanced to his right to see Whelan investigating another patch of bushes, while beyond him Trant checked behind a low brick wall. Their quarry was still nowhere to be seen. He kept going, scanning ahead.
Something caught his eye, a low, blocky shape amongst some plants.
The case. He started towards it, about to alert the others — when water streamed over him from above.
Overton hesitated. He was still under a tree, so the foliage must have thinned out. Or—
The other explanation hit him at the same time as Eddie did.
The sodden Yorkshireman had climbed up on to one of the lower branches, hoping simply to stay out of sight, but when the black-clad man passed almost directly beneath him, he knew he couldn’t miss the opportunity. He dropped on top of him, smashing his elbow down hard against the back of his skull and slamming him face-first to the ground.
The American went limp beneath him. Taking no chances, Eddie grabbed his hair and yanked his head up before driving a vicious knuckle-punch into his exposed throat. Cartilage crunched. The man spasmed, faint choking noises from his gaping mouth barely audible over the hiss of the rain.
Eddie rose to a crouch, searching for his pursuer’s MP7 — only to realise that the man had landed on top of it. He was about to roll him away when some instinct made him check on the positions of the other raiders—
The nearest turned towards him.
Nina realised she was breathing heavily as she watched events in Germany play out on the video wall, Trant investigating the park’s far end while Whelan searched its centre. The latter had just reached an open paved area containing benches, night vision turning the rainy gloom as bright as day. He turned his head, the view panning back in Overton’s direction— ‘Whelan, stop!’ Cross shouted. The image stabilised. ‘There, under the tree — there’s something on the grass.’
Simeon stepped closer to the monitors, trying to make out the crumpled shape. ‘Is that a man?’
‘It’s Overton,’ said Cross grimly. ‘Trant! Man down, south end of the park.’ The other screens blurred as the team leader whipped around.
‘What’s going on?’ said Dalton, agitated. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Don’t screw with my husband,’ Nina said quietly.
Whelan moved cautiously towards the slumped figure. ‘It’s definitely Overton,’ he said, his camera darting from side to side as he scanned the park. Nothing moved except the falling rain.
‘Whelan, look to your right,’ ordered Cross. ‘There’s something in that flower bed — there!’
The screens revealed a blocky shape in the undergrowth. ‘It’s the case,’ said Anna.
‘It’s open,’ Cross growled. ‘Check it out, but be careful. He’s around there somewhere.’
‘Cops are getting closer,’ said Trant as he headed in a crouch back along the edge of the park. Sirens became audible over the background noise.
Whelan reached Overton. He nudged the motionless figure with a foot, then crossed the grass to the case and reached down to raise the half-open lid…
A dull thump came over the speakers.
‘What was that?’ said Cross, but Whelan was already turning to find the source. The camera fixed upon something on the wet grass — an object that had not been there seconds earlier.
‘It’s the angel!’ exclaimed Dalton.
The stone figure lay on its side, raindrops bursting against the metal and clay. ‘It’s intact,’ Whelan said, relieved.
Sudden realisation made Cross sit bolt upright as Whelan went to retrieve the statue. ‘No, wait, it’s a decoy — check behind you!’ he cried—
The image whipped around through a hundred and eighty degrees with a sickening snap of bone. Then the monitors filled with an extreme close-up… of Eddie Chase.
He released his neck-breaking hold. The camera flopped, looking down Whelan’s back. Then Eddie stepped away and the dead man crumpled to the ground.
‘Definitely don’t screw with my husband,’ said Nina.
Simeon and Anna both shot her angry looks, but Cross remained focused on the view from the remaining camera. Trant had reacted to his warning by dropping behind a hedge. He peered warily over it to see Eddie crouched by Whelan’s corpse, collecting his MP7 before picking up the statue.
‘Careful,’ snapped Cross into his headset as Trant’s own gun rose into the camera’s field of view and lined up on the Englishman’s back. ‘You might hit the angel. Move in closer.’
The team leader sidestepped along the hedge to a gap, then began a cautious, measured advance. ‘No, wait,’ said Nina in alarm. Eddie still had his back to Trant, the angel under one arm as he cleaned mud off the weapon. ‘Don’t kill him!’
‘Too late for that now,’ snarled Simeon.
She rushed to the cult leader’s side. ‘If you kill him, I’ll never help you find the last angel!’
‘You will,’ Cross replied, his cold certainty far more menacing than any of Simeon’s threats.
Nina looked back in desperation at the monitors. Trant was now directly behind Eddie, closing with each step. The MP7 was fixed on the Englishman’s back.
‘Aim for the head,’ said Cross. The gun’s muzzle rose slightly. ‘Ready—’
Nina snatched the headset off him — and jammed its microphone against the earpiece. Trant flinched at a squall of nerve-scraping feedback—
Eddie heard the shriek from the other man’s headphones and spun, firing a burst from his MP7 squarely into the cultist’s chest.
The camera’s view blurred as Trant was flung backwards, ending up pointing skywards. The image rippled as rain landed on it.
Dalton gawped at the screens. ‘What just happened?’
‘Eddie just happened,’ said Nina with triumph, even as Simeon hauled her away from Cross.
The cult leader jumped up, facing her with an expression of rage, but before he could speak, a voice boomed from the speakers. ‘Ay up. You at the other end of this camera — can you hear me?’
Eddie reappeared, pulling the headset from the dead man and peering into the lens. ‘Anyone there?’ he asked, tapping the microphone with a loud whump. ‘Come on, speak up.’
‘Eddie, I’m here!’ Nina shouted into the headset, before Simeon snatched it from her.
The Englishman’s face broke into a strained smile. ‘Nina! Thank God.’
‘Mr Chase!’ said Cross as he put the headset back on. ‘Can you hear me?’
Eddie frowned. ‘Who’s that? You this Prophet bloke?’
‘Yes, I am. Do you have the angel, Mr Chase?’
Eddie drew the camera back and lifted the statue into view. ‘Here. Say hello to everyone at home, angel. Hello, everyone!’ he added in a squeaky voice. Nina couldn’t help but smile.
‘You know how dangerous it is,’ said Cross. ‘If you want to see your wife again, you’ll—’