The monster opened its toothy mouth, flashed fangs the length of a man's forearm, and screamed that terrible scream again. Then it froze in that position, jaws agape.
"What is it doing?"
Jay shook his head. "Hell if I know. But there's my target." He lined the crosshairs up on the thing's open gullet, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.
Bascomb-Coombs jittered a few times, then collapsed, his suddenly dead weight more than Peel could hold up. He bent and pulled the knife out of the man's hindbrain, wiped it on the dead man's shirt, and put the blade back into the sheath.
"Sorry, old man, but you mess with the bull and sometimes you get the horn."
The knife was the way to go, all right. He didn't want to attract any attention. Once he was done in here, he would use his gun to do Ruzhyo. He didn't want to get too close to that one.
Now, let's see. There was Goswell, the maid, the cook, and old Applewhite left inside, then Ruzhyo. Huard he could save until last, the boy would never have a clue. Then pop the safe--whose combination he'd had for months--take whatever cash and baubles were there, and a lively stroll through the rainy fields and away. A long and hard day, and it wasn't over yet, but there it was: You did what you had to do, and God save the king.
He went down the hall toward the dining room to have a word with his lordship.
This time, when the rocket exploded, so did the monster's head. Ersatz brain and bone and blood sleeted in all directions, some of it hitting Jay and Saji, but neither of them cared.
"You got it! You got it!"
"You seem awfully joyful for a Buddhist, under the circumstances."
Saji hugged him. "What, for shutting down a computer program? That's all you really did, isn't it?"
"All I did? Hey, this was no ordinary computer program, woman!" But he hugged her back. He had done it. He had redeemed himself. And it felt better than pretty damned good, it felt absolutely great.
Jay Gridley was back!
40
Thursday, April 14th
The Yews, Sussex, England
The entry team made it to within a few hundred meters of the house without any trouble. Michaels had expected to hear shooting from the perimeter team when it got to the gate, but either they were too far away, or things had gone better there than expected.
In the headset, Howard said, "See anything, E4?"
Fernandez was on point. "Negative, I--wait. There's one just passed under the light by the back door. Looks as if he is walking patrol."
"Copy. Let's move in."
Michaels waited until Howard passed him before he got up from the wet ground where he'd been prone and started moving in a low crouch. Stay low, move slow, that's what Howard had emphasized.
Toni and Cooper followed him, and the tight feeling in his bowels was not altogether from his worry about being shot.
Ruzhyo caught the movement in the field during a lull in the rain. It wasn't much, just a dark shape outlined against the distant outdoor light from a neighboring farm, but it was enough to gain his attention.
A few seconds later, he caught another glimpse of something. Could be a lost sheep, maybe. A calf that had wandered away from its mother. But he didn't believe that. Dark shapes coming across the field in the rain? British assault team was more likely. And sooner than he--and Peel--had expected. Since he hadn't heard any gunfire, Ruzhyo had to assume they had gotten past the guards. Not a real surprise. Peel's men were good soldiers, but the estate was too big for them to cover properly.
Ruzhyo moved deeper into the overhang's shadows, circled away from the house, and headed toward the building that Peel used for an office. He could use that for cover until he saw how many of them had come. Then, if he was lucky, he could still slip away. There could be a dozen or a hundred of them, and without knowing where the gaps were, it would be risky to try to run.
Goswell wiped his lips as Peel came into the room, wearing a rather smug smile. Ah, well. Here we go.
He had sent Applewhite upstairs with the maid and Cook and told them to lock themselves in the upstairs office and stay there until he personally told them to come out. The office door was steel, with a stout lock and a policeman's bar behind it, installed as part of a security room under Peel's aegis. Rather ironic, that.
Now he could finish this unpleasant business. He put his napkin back into his lap and left his hands there with it.
"Do have a seat, Major."
"I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you, Geoffrey."
Ceoffrey? Good God, Peel has gone round the bend. Somewhat flustered at the overly familiar tone, Goswell sought to collect himself. "Did you see Bascomb-Coombs, then?"
"Ah, yes, that I did. I just left him in the study. Quite dead."
"Dead, you say?"
"Yes. A sudden attack of brain fever. Brought on by this." Peel pulled a wicked-looking little dagger from under his jacket and held it up. The bright steel glittered under the lamps of the electric chandelier.
Goswell considered that. "Killed him, did you?"
"I'm afraid so."
"A pity. He was quite brilliant."
"And he was also a psychotic willing to do your bidding and who also tried to have me killed." Peel turned the knife this way and that, looking at the steel almost as if hypnotized.
"Did he? Well, apparently his assassins fared no better than mine, then."
Peel frowned. "Yours?"
"Yes, of course. I'm afraid perhaps you've made a mistake and poor Bascomb-Coombs has been made to suffer for it. It was I who had people trying to kill you, sir."
"But--why?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.
"Really, Peel. For conspiring with that very same Bascomb-Coombs you have slain in my study. Did you think me such a fool that I wouldn't remember that someone must watch the watchers?"
"Ah, so it was you having me followed. And that fellow in the bookstore."
"I am sad that it was necessary. Your father would be most unhappy with you. I thought you were made of better stuff, Major."
Peel laughed. "Well, I've got to hand it to you, Your Lordship, I never tumbled to it being your doing. I stand corrected. And it's not as if Bascomb-Coombs was some innocent who didn't deserve his fate. Though I must say, you are awfully calm for man who is about to have his throat cut. A gentleman to the end, eh?"
"I should hope so. Although I confess that I don't expect that end to occur this evening."
With that, Goswell brought his Rigby double up from his lap and pointed it right at Peel's heart.
The old man was slow and half-blind, and there was a moment there if Peel had moved quickly that he could have gotten around the point-blank line of sight and stabbed Goswell. But such was his shock at seeing the gun come up, so unexpected was it, that he froze. By the time he recovered, Goswell had him covered. He might not be able to hit a rabbit hopping about in his garden fifty feet away, but at ten feet, he'd play hell missing a man-sized target. And a load of even birdshot would be fatal in the right spot.
"Are you going to shoot me?"
"I'd rather not get blood all over the dining room, but if you bat an eyelash crooked, certainly I will. Applewhite would hate the cleaning, but he is very discreet."
"What, then?" "I was rather hoping we could step outside, you could have a final cigar and a brandy or whatnot, and we'd ... part company there."
He was serious. Goswell was going kill him. After cigars and brandy.
Not while he had a knife in one hand and a pistol inches from the other hand, the old fool wasn't. He would distract him and bet on his younger reflexes. It was the only way.
"Well, all right. If that's how it is to be. I think I'd like one of the Cubans and maybe a snifter of the Napoleon--"
With that, Peel lunged.
"All I see is the one," Fernandez said. "You want me to put a couple of rounds in him? Pick a spot and say when."
Howard considered his options. The guard had a submachine gun slung and ready, a
nd he might cut loose if he heard a twig snap. Subgun pistol ammo wouldn't pierce their SIPEsuit armor, but it would surely make enough noise to warn people in the house they had company. So would a flash-bang or puke lights. Howard had been expecting a firefight, and in that case, you did what you had to do to control the situation; but so far, with no shooting, it seemed possible they could pull this off without anybody getting blasted. He'd rather do it that way, considering how delicate the politics were. Michaels had gone out on a limb a few times for Howard, the least he could do was return the favor.
"I'm moving up," Howard said. "I'll get his attention. While he's focused on me, you take him out. Nonlethally, if possible."
"Copy nonlethal, E5."
Howard crawled to within twenty yards of the house, then fifteen. The guard was turning and heading in his direction, and he had to attract and keep his attention long enough for Julio to get to him and choke him out.
He needed a noise that would make the guard curious but not afraid. A cat's meow might do it. He did a pretty good imitation of a kitten looking for its mama. Even if the guard was some kind of pervert who liked stomping kittens, he'd have to see it before he did that. Should be enough time for Julio.
"Meow. Mew. Mew. Mew!"
Sure enough, the guard started heading his way.
"Mew! Mew!"
The man grinned. "Kitty! Here, kitty, kitty. Aw, you lost in the rain? C'mere, I'll dry you off."
Good, he was a cat lover.
It was going to work. And it might have, if somebody hadn't fired a shotgun inside the house just then.
The guard spun toward the door, saw Julio coming at him at a dead run, and whipped his gun up.
Well, shit, Howard thought. Then he opened up with his own subgun, a triplet into the guard's back. The guard wasn't wearing armor. He went down.
"Go!" Howard yelled into his comset. "Back to Plan Able!"
Peel looked at the bloody hole in his belly, felt the burn of the lead, and knew he was not going to recover from this gut shot. Thick smoke clouded the lights, the burned-powder smell was awful, and from the floor, he wanted only one thing: to take fucking Goswell with him. He grabbed at his pistol, pulled it free--
Goswell stepped closer and aimed the shotgun at Peel's face.
"Sorry," Goswell said.
The next explosion blew out Peel's lights forever.
Howard rolled through the door and into the kitchen. He came up ready but, save for Julio, already on guard, they were alone. He pointed down the hall, and Julio nodded.
They cleared rooms. When they got to the study, there was a body on the floor next to a portable computer. The dead man wore portable VR gear. They rolled him over and saw his face.
"Bascomb-Coombs," Julio said. "Deader than last week's liberty."
"Yes."
Over the headset, Howard heard somebody outside suck in a harsh breath.
When they got to the dining room, they found the second corpse, a messy one with half its face blasted away, and an old man sitting at the dining room table with an open double-barreled shotgun in front of him. White smoke hung like dense fog in the room.
"You shooting black powder in that thing?" Julio asked.
The old man was Lord Goswell. Howard recognized him from his pictures.
"You don't look like any of the security boys I know. Americans, are you?"
"Yeah, we're new," Julio said. "What happened here?"
"Major Peel went mad, I think. He killed Bascomb-Coombs and came for me. I had to shoot him, I'm afraid. A terrible business."
Peel and Bascomb-Coombs, both dead. Howard shook his head. "Jesus."
Over his com, he heard Cooper echo that word. Or maybe it was Fiorella.
Julio said, "Where is Ruzhyo?"
The old man frowned. "Who? Oh, you mean the new Russian fellow Peel hired? I expect he's around somewhere. He was here earlier."
"Stay here," Howard said. "We'll be back. Heads up out there people, Ruzhyo is still loose."
They headed out. Michaels, Fiorella, and Cooper were covering the back, and Julio said into his com, "E4 and E5 are coming out the back door. Nobody shoot us."
As they stepped out into the yard, the rain stopped. The heads up in Howard's helmet lit with a flash on channel tac-2. He toggled the second com unit on.
"E5, this is P1 . We have secured the perimeter."
"Copy, PI. Keep half your unit there, and send a squad our way. We have one unfriendly loose and running around, armed and the worst of the bunch. Stay awake."
"Copy awake, E5."
Howard said, "Split up. Commander, you are with me. Cooper and Fiorella, you are with Fernandez. Do what he says. Let's go find him."
From where he stood, hidden by the outbuilding's corner, maybe five meters away, Ruzhyo could hear the American's voice, though he could not quite make out the words. Five of them, and more out in the fields and doubtlessly on the way. They were wearing body armor impervious to his weapon, and it was unlikely they would flip up their visors or remove their helmets, knowing what had happened to their men who did that the last time they had tried to take him. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and outflanked. Once upon a time, he would have considered those things a personal challenge. Not tonight.
He might bank a shot under a visor with jacketed bullets, but the .22s were soft lead and wouldn't bounce well, though they would spatter if they hit a hard surface. Possibly he could blind one, but that wouldn't do him much good.
The only other weak points were the gloves, which were of thin Kevlar so they could have relatively unimpeded use of their hands. But a broken bone in the hands would hardly be fatal.
No, if he wanted to live, best he take his chances in the fields. Run, and with luck get past the line and away.
He sighed. He could have run a long time ago. He could be back in Chetsnya by now. But that wasn't really home without Anna. Wherever she had been had been his home. With her death, he had been cut loose, adrift, a sere leaf blown by the winds of fate.
He sighed again. Enough of this.
He unfolded the trigger from the umbrella's handle and stepped out from behind the cover of the building and into a cone of light. The five were only a few meters away, backs to him.
"Save yourselves the trouble," he said.
They turned almost as one, all of their guns leveled at him.
"Drop it!" one of yelled. "Drop the--the umbrella?"
He saw them relax slightly. He had given up. They had him.
He snapped the umbrella up and started point shooting.
Howard felt the impact of the bullet on his weapon, and when he tried to return fire, the subgun fired one round, which was way low, then jammed. He let it go and snatched at his revolver.
He heard the others yelling, though he couldn't separate the voices in the LOSIR from each other or the people standing close to him.
"Shit!"
"Fuck"
"Ow!"
The S&W came out of his holster, the cover to the sight popped off, tethered to the holster as it was. He jerked the revolver up, too high, found the glowing red dot and brought it back down.
Why the hell wasn't anybody else shooting at him? He brought the dot down, centered it on the man's chest, and cooked off two rounds--boom! boom!--and watched him fall, crumpling in slomo.
The son of a bitch was smiling as he fell!
Howard ran to the fallen man, stood over him. Both .357 rounds had hit him square in the middle of the chest, heart shots, both, he was out of it, and even if the medics were here, they couldn't fix that.
The dying man looked up at Howard. "Anna," he said. That was all.
It was just about wrapped up. Fernandez came over, carrying the umbrella Ruzhyo had used. He held it so Michaels could see the gun mechanism inside. "Five-shot revolver, see? Ingenious little thing."
Michaels nodded. He also saw the bandage on Fernandez's right hand where the small-caliber bullet had hit it. It hadn't penetrated the glove, but it
had smashed against it hard enough to keep him from shooting. Michaels' own weapon had been disabled by a bullet that hit the magazine. Toni had a small wound on her right hand like Fernandez's, and Angela's glove had failed to stop the bullet and it had broken her thumb. Howard's subgun had taken a round against the bolt.
The man called Ruzhyo had hit all five of them hard enough to keep them from shooting back, and it was only Howard's handgun that had finally put an end to it. It was amazing. Nobody here had ever seen anybody shoot so well. If he had had an armor-piercing weapon, he could have killed them all.
"Too bad he wasn't on our side," Fernandez said. "He'd have made a helluva small-arms instructor."
"You sorry he's dead?"
"No. And, well, yeah. Kinda."
Michaels understood that.
"All right. Let's get out of here," Howard said. "The party is over."
EPILOGUE
Friday, April 15th
London, England
Toni had taken another room, without discussing the situation with Michaels. As he headed to the lobby of the hotel to meet her, he wondered what she was going to say. They were supposed to go home today. The flight was booked. It would be a long trip if she didn't want to talk to him.
He took the stairs, wanting to be alone.
The case was over. The Brits had cleaned up the mess at Goswell's. There was nothing to tie the old man directly to anything. The witnesses who could have implicated him were all dead.
Bascomb-Coombs's miracle computer was also dead. Some kind of timed destruct code that didn't get turned off when he wasn't there to disarm it. The Brits had the machine, but they didn't know what it was they had. Maybe someday they could puzzle it out.
Night Moves (1999) Page 30
