by Paul Kane
"Right, when do we leave?" Bill wanted to know.
Robert shook his head. "I want you to stay here."
"What?"
"I can't afford to have all my best people on this. I need you out here, Bill, in case we run into difficulties." Robert wisely withheld the bit about Bill being a loose cannon - often literally with that shotgun of his.
Bill argued a little - "I was the one who bloody well brought ye into all this!" - but in the end he grudgingly accepted the logic of Robert's decision. That was probably a first. Must be mellowing in his old age, thought Robert.
"And Bill," he said, "if we do need backup, promise me you won't kit the Rangers out with machine-guns or whatever. No heavy stuff. Let them fight the way they were meant to. The way they were trained to."
Bill folded his arms.
"Promise me," Robert insisted.
"Aye, all right," Bill said reluctantly. "But I still think ye're bloody crackers."
Robert grinned. "Nothing new there, then."
Using maps of the castle, Robert had outlined how they were going to play this: entering the city just as they had done when taking Nottingham Castle the first time, only this time they knew exactly which bits to avoid, and they'd be doing it under cover of darkness. He knew his Rangers could move silently, unseen, through the urban forest just as he had once done through Sherwood. When they were close enough, they'd split into three teams of a handful each: one, led by Azhar, making an assault up the rocks on the north side, climbing over the wall at a point just down from the Argyle Battery cannons. The second, led by a female Ranger called Annie Reid, would do the same on the south side, gaining access up and into the grounds near the old Scottish United Services Museum. The third group would take out the guards outside the Gatehouse, replacing them with Rangers dressed in captured raider uniforms, who would then let in the rest of that team. Later they'd regroup within the castle boundaries.
"The good thing is, the Widow doesn't have nearly as many men as either De Falaise or The Tsar at the moment," Robert informed his troops. "With a bit of luck, we should be able to get in there, get the job done, and leave again without anyone having seen us even enter."
Robert and Mary would be leading the frontal assault. "It'll be just like old times," she said to her husband, referring to when she'd walked through the gates of Nottingham Castle to confront the Sheriff.
"Let's hope not," Robert replied. "I don't want to take on her entire army just yet."
Preparations were made and they'd set off on horseback for Scotland's capital in the afternoon, timing it just right so they'd reach the castle itself by nightfall. Everything had gone well, they'd managed to avoid the Widow's people who were watching for signs of intruders in the city, and tethered their mounts once they were close enough to make it on foot. They moved as one through the streets, and even Robert was impressed by the way his people conducted themselves - all those hours of practise had really paid off. He felt proud as they pressed themselves up against walls, checked around corners. They couldn't have been better trained if they'd been on the police force with him all those years ago.
When the time came, they'd branched off: Azhar skirting round one side with his team; Annie taking her group round the other, keeping to the shadows at the base. And near the Esplanade - where many jeeps, tanks and other armoured vehicles were stationed - Robert and Mary held back with the others. Two of their Rangers dressed in the Widow's tartan handled the guards at the Gatehouse. They could have taken them out with arrows, but didn't want to risk that being seen from a distance; guards suddenly keeling over at the same time was sure to raise suspicion. Better to take them out in close quarters then replace them almost immediately. Robert looked on as the Rangers crept silently up towards the Gatehouse, sneaking behind the guards simultaneously, hands over mouths, knocking them out and taking their places.
Once the nod was given, the rest of them moved forwards just as stealthily, finding whatever cover they could in order to reach the arch. "Good work," Robert whispered to his troops now standing guard, as they let them all in through the front door, flanked on either side by statues of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Robert couldn't help thinking that Scotland deserved the kind of freedom those men had fought so hard for, not the slavery this Widow obviously had in mind.
Inside, they remained in the shadows, making their way up towards the Portcullis Gate, the second line of the Widow's defence. They waited patiently for the signal that Azhar's team had taken out the guards here from the other side. That came when the lethal-looking gate was raised.
Nicely done, Azhar, thought Robert, waving to the figures up in the building above them.
He motioned for his team to move forwards through the gate, into the castle grounds proper. This place was much larger than their castle, but that meant there were more places to hide between its many buildings: like St Margaret's Chapel, the rounded water Reservoirs, the large War Memorial. No sooner had they entered than they had to conceal themselves when a group of a dozen or so of the Widow's men walked past.
"That was close," Mary said.
He nodded, but Robert found himself frowning at the same time. It was about now that the sense of unease really hit him: his own instinct telling him something was wrong. As good as they were at this kind of operation, this was all a bit too easy.
Robert registered more jeeps outside the New Barracks - which housed the bulk of the Widow's troops - as they moved back and round towards the Royal buildings where he knew the woman herself would be located.
He looked around as they entered the Crown Square, then tugged on Mary's arm. "I think we need to get out of here."
"What is it?"
"This smells like-" He was about to say 'a trap', but by then it was obvious. Lights kicked in from above and they were surrounded by armed guards, swarming from every conceivable nook and cranny. Ranger Madison at the side of Robert raised his bow and felled a couple of the Widow's men, and was shot dead at point blank range for his trouble. Mary's Peacekeepers were out, but Robert put an arm across to stop her from firing. It was no use, they were hopelessly outnumbered and in a confined space. Their only hope was that Annie Reid and her team might come to their aid, but that was soon dashed when Robert heard a voice from one of the open windows above.
"Welcome to our home, Robin," said the woman with the wild hair. "I know what you're thinking, but yer other teams are a little bit tied up right now." The crowds parted to show them the other Ranger groups, including Ahzar's, captured: their hands bound behind their backs. "Who do yer think let you in at the Portcullis Gate?" She laughed, and it echoed around the square. "I knew you fellas were coming even before you did."
It crossed Robert's mind that he could pick her off with just one arrow. Her men wouldn't be able to stop him in time.
"I wouldnae try that," she called down. "It'd just be a waste of an arrow. - and yer life."
Lucky guess, had to be. It was what anyone in this position would be thinking.
"What is it that you want?" said Robert, perhaps hoping to negotiate, but knowing full well this wasn't a woman who could be bargained with.
"Yer come here in the dead of night and ask what I want. It seems obvious yer wantin' me. You want to know ma secrets. That's okay, because what I want is you, Hooded Man, so I'd be more than happy tae oblige."
Chapter Eight
The more he explored of the place, the more he realised just how dangerous this man's outfit was.
Take Cardiff Arms Park for example, located next door. Dale had managed to sneak a look from up high in the stadium and saw that this had been converted into a giant storage facility. It was filled with all kinds of jeeps, tanks, tracked and multi-role armoured vehicles - the latter with their distinctive eight wheels. They must have widened or knocked down the entrance to get them all in. And more seemed to be arriving every day, enough to take on the rest of Wales, maybe even sometime soon the rest of what had once been Great Britain. Where
they were coming from, he had no idea, and he was no closer to finding out.
So here he was, alone and cut off from the outside world: a spy in the Dragon's den. He needed to get to a radio - the Dragon must be keeping in touch with his units that way, same as they did - but he didn't have all that much to report at the moment. Just his observations about how powerful this Welshman was becoming, how the rest of this country would never shift him if they didn't act soon.
He'd never felt so unsure about what to do in all his life. When he was younger he'd always been focused on the music, always known he wanted to be a musician. Surviving after The Cull, on the streets, he'd been confident that he'd get by, travelling with his guitar and fending off anyone who fancied their chances. But right now he just didn't know which way to turn.
It wasn't even so much that he was on his own here, because he'd always felt that way deep down, like he shouldn't really get to close to anyone. That was probably why he could never really connect with the opposite sex. Even after he'd found Robert and his Rangers, joined them, been accepted into their clan, Dale still saw himself as being something apart from that too. A team player, but at the same time a maverick. No, his anxiety was more to do with the fact he was out of his depth, that he wasn't used to all this masquerading. Dale preferred to be upfront, to fight his enemy face to face, not pretend to be something he wasn't in order to figure out a potential weakness.
But it's not the first time you've pretended to be something you're not, is it? He'd done that all the time with the women he'd dated - if you could call one night stands dating. Pretended he'd call them, that things might go further, just to get them into the sack. This is different, and besides, I've changed. Or at least he wanted to change, but hadn't quite got it yet.
All this was just to stop him thinking about what to do next. And a distraction so he wouldn't think about-
A radio; he should at the very least check in with Jack, let the man know he was still alive. If Dale knew Jack, he'd be monitoring the frequencies for a call. That man knew the airwaves like the back of his hand, having had an interest in radio since he was a kid - probably the only way he could keep in touch with anyone, cut off in upstate New York.
Cut off, just like Dale was now.
When he was sure he could slip out without being noticed, Dale grabbed a tray and exited the kitchens at the Stadium, praying that another big order wouldn't come in from the Dragon while he was searching. He made his way up one corridor and down another, almost bumping into the man himself, being wheeled along towards a set of double doors.
Dale hung back, but followed for a little while, trailing the Dragon to a set of lifts - actual working lifts! - where he descended with his personal guards. Maybe that was where he took the women from his-
No, you weren't going to think about that, remember? Well, at least if he was heading there, he wouldn't be asking for food again in a hurry. Dale swore under his breath, thinking what the cost might be for buying him some time. It was too high a price. Much too high.
He got on with his task of looking for a radio. It wasn't easy, because he couldn't just stop and ask one of the Dragon's men where it was. Bit of a giveaway for a budding secret agent. On the plus side, only certain key locations inside were lit with proper electric lights; obviously the work of whoever had rigged up the PA system and lifts. If he just carried the tray around with him, none of the guards said a thing because they simply assumed he was on his way back from delivering the Dragon's latest meal, or fetching and carrying for the rest of the troops. In essence, Dale had the run of the place. Now all he had to do was-
There!
One of the Dragon's men was coming out of a well lit room, the door swinging open a crack behind him. Dale spotted a radio on the table inside. There was another guy still in the room, speaking into the mouthpiece. Dale looked left and right. If he took out the operator that was sure to be discovered eventually, and before Dale was ready to get out of this place. Maybe he should just wait for the bloke to leave. But what if he never did? What if the other one came back, and then he had to wait for both of them to vacate the room? Dale was conscious that he'd been absent from the kitchens for a while. People would begin to notice soon, if they hadn't already. He had to do something, or just give up on contacting Jack altogether.
The man inside yawned, stretched and looked as though he was about to get up. Dale smiled. He was in luck, the bloke was about to follow his comrade. But no, instead he rested his head on the table. He was having a fucking nap! There was no way Dale would be able to use the radio with him in there kipping.
Dale had crept further towards the door to watch. It was only now, when a hand came down on his shoulder, that he realised he'd given himself away. A good spy should never be caught snooping in doorways.
He started, almost bringing the tray round and smacking the person in the face - assuming it was the second guard coming back. But Dale held himself in check, as well as holding his breath. It was a good job because when he turned, he saw a face he recognised.
"You're going to get caught sneaking about like that," whispered the girl with the milky skin and blonde hair. The girl he hadn't been able to get out of his mind since the Dragon took her away. Dale's had never been lost for words in his life, but he was now. "Caught or killed." the girl said, her voice betrayed a faint Welsh accent, like she'd been born in this country but had lived further east for a while.
He stepped back, taking her in. She was still dressed in a flimsy outfit; the baby doll replaced by a chemise. Dale suddenly found his voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Not getting caught," she replied, and he realised that his first assessment of her had been spot on. Back in that VIP box he'd noticed her obvious compassion for those murdered Rangers, but also an inner strength he really admired. It reminded him a little of Sophie, of Mary. "I hope, anyway." The girl pulled him to one side so they couldn't be seen from inside the room.
"Caught doing what?" Dale's curiosity about her had overcome any surprise or awkwardness; now he just wanted to know what she was up to.
"The same as you, I'm guessing. Something we shouldn't be."
She had him there. He definitely shouldn't be sending a radio message out or thinking about whacking one of the Dragon's men to do it. "Okay... Look, just who are you?"
"My name's Sian."
"Dale."
"All right then, Dale, you obviously want to get into that room to use the radio. But you can't with that big lug snoring over there. I want information. We can help each other." Sian skirted around him and made for the door.
Dale grabbed her by the arm. "What are you doing? You can't!"
"Out of the two of us, I reckon I'm the one that can," she said, removing his hand from her arm. She smiled. "Don't worry, I came prepared." She held up her other hand and in it was most of a bottle of whiskey. "Loosens the tongue."
Suddenly Sian was gone, walking into the room and rousing the Dragon's man. He heard the guy ask gruffly what she was doing there, but he didn't catch her reply. The rest of what they were saying was muffled. Although he couldn't see from this angle, Dale knew the guy must be looking at her, his eyes trailing over her body just as the Dragon's had. Just as his own had.
No, not the same, not the same thing at all!
Dale held back as long as he could, but when he heard laughter he edged closer to the door. Sian was explaining to the man that she'd been sent here with a little present for his hard work, that the Dragon had said to enjoy it. Dale wasn't sure whether she was talking about the booze or her. The thought made Dale want to retch. He heard gulping as the man drank and felt grateful he couldn't see what else he was up to. Dale waited as the man drank more, and more. It was only when he heard him telling Sian what he'd like to do to her, his voice slurring badly, that Dale couldn't restrain himself any longer.
The next thing he knew, he was inside the room and had brought the tray he was holding down on the back of the man's head. The operator s
lumped forward.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sian snapped.
"Giving him a hangover he won't forget in a hurry."
"And what if he remembers? What if-"
"Look, he was about to, you know, try it on." He couldn't believe he'd just said that. This was the woman who'd been dragged off by the Dragon, had done Christ knows what with him, and he was worried about a drunk radio guy getting a bit fresh.
"He was in no condition to try anything on! God, if you've screwed things up for me-"
"Screwed things up... what are you talking about?"
Sian let out a weary sigh. "I came in here looking for my Aunt Meghan. We've been together ever since... well, you know. The Dragon's men took her a few weeks ago. She kept me hidden away safe when they found us, I think she thought she could talk her way out of it. But they took her, Dale. They took her so I let myself get captured."
"Jesus. I'm really sorry." If anything, that made what Sian had gone through all the more upsetting. "Did you get anything from him?"
Sian shook her head.
"Listen, I'll help you look for her. But first, I really need to send a message out on that radio before his mate comes back."
"Won't be back anytime soon. This one made it very clear we'd be alone for a good while. They just got a message through saying some big foreign guy the Dragon's supposed to be meeting is almost here. His mate's gone off to look after him personally, give him a tour until the Dragon is ready to meet up."
"What big foreign guy?"
"Funny sounding name: Tunic or something."
Dale placed his hands on her arms. "Tanek? Was that the name?"
"Might have been."
"Think, Sian. This is important!"
