Then return.
Sweet air filled his lungs. McGrath opened his eyes and squinted up to where Old Davey stood. “Did that just happen?”
Aye. You are free now.
McGrath rolled onto his side. With weary arms he got into a sitting position and wondered if maybe death was more preferable to the pain in his head and body. Down from the bottom of the hill, he heard the Vikings chant their war cry. The thought of Vikings fighting red-skinned demons made McGrath interested enough to stand and take a look. He couldn’t see anything. Trees and high foliage cut off any view.
You could go closer, Old Davey said.
“True, but I get the feeling I should keep my distance on this one.” McGrath looked back at his car. He had a drink in his bag and thought about going to get it and freshen up his mouth. Then he heard another sound. “What was that?”
Wolves.
“Wolves?”
The animals burst passed his car. Half-a-dozen of them, racing each other to get to their target. And their target was a rotting corpse of an old man and an off-duty cop.
Run, Old Davey said.
McGrath looked at him and said, stupidly, “What about you?”
The old man laughed. “You think I can run in this state?”
The wolves were bounding down the slope, and McGrath saw their narrowed eyes zeroing in on him. He turned and ran, but the incline and the grass and his still uncertain legs meant he fell after fifteen paces. The impact drove the air from his lungs. He lay, gasping for breath as the howling came closer. Fear drove him to his feet. McGrath looked back. Old Davey hadn’t moved. He waited for the first wolf as patiently as he’d waited for the first bus of the day when he was alive.
McGrath saw the lead animal leap. Its jaws snapped shut on Old Davey’s neck as its front paws hit his chest. The old man didn’t fall. He exploded. The sudden gush of fluid engulfed the wolf. McGrath heard its howl turn to a scream of anguish. Davey’s body lit a fire on the wolf as it burst through the falling body. The animal twisted, seeking a way out of the pain that enveloped it. The flames burned with a green fury that consumed the wolf. Its body crackled and popped as fat ignited and bones overheated. Its companions stayed back, the sound and smell of their pack member’s death frightening them.
McGrath began to edge down the slope. If the body still burned it would give him the distraction he needed to escape. A quick glance showed him closer to the hedgerow than he’d hoped. And then movement up the slope caught is attention. Two young girls appeared.
Oh, fuck. The children must have seen the wolves and followed them.
The hedgerow was so close, but he couldn’t leave the children in danger.
McGrath ran back up the hill. “Get back,” he shouted at the girls. “Get back. They’re wild animals and they’re dangerous.”
The girls stopped and stared at him. He realised they were identical twins.
“Get back!” he shouted again.
One of the twins threw her head back and laughed. The other pointed at McGrath. The wolves looked at him as one, their dark eyes hungry.
The girl gave them their command in a voice that echoed across the hillside, “Kill.”
***
“Nervous?” Reuben asked.
Hannah looked at him over the roof of their car. Reuben had parked in the shadow of Chequers as directed by security. Now they were here, the idea they could just walk in and take down the mystery woman seemed even more far-fetched than before. As she considered her answer, a smartly dressed man approached them. Hannah didn’t want to use the word butler to describe him, but the way the man carried himself screamed pretentious staff member.
“Good morning,” the man said in an upper-class accent that sounded as forced as any that Hannah had ever heard.
“Hello,” Reuben came around the front of the car. “Reuben Simpson-Brown and...”
“I know who you are,” the man said with an oily smile. “Security told me you were on your way.”
“You know who we are?” Hannah asked, not sure what he meant.
“Your names,” he said. “I know your names and that you have been added to the guest list by Downing Street.”
“Of course.” Hannah smiled.
“My name is Jacobs,” the butler said. “One of the staff will get your bags from your car and take them to your room. I will escort you to one of our reception rooms where our other guests are gathering for morning coffee.”
Jacobs walked as if he had a book balanced on his head. His legs moved, but his body glided. Hannah felt like giving him a nudge just to see what reaction she would get. Here was a guy who thought working for the Prime Minister made him better than everyone else. Well tough shit, fella, because your life is about to get very messy. Hannah exchanged a glance with Reuben.
“How many guests are there?” Reuben asked.
“Seven, including yourselves,” Jacobs said, over his shoulder. “Everyone else arrived yesterday.” He said that with a tone of criticism, as if Hannah and Reuben should be ashamed of putting in an appearance twenty-four hours after the others. They mounted the steps to the front door of the P.M.’s country residence and entered the building.
On the drive over, Hannah and Reuben had tried to thrash out a strategy that might work and leave them alive at the end of it. The simplest had been to pull their guns out and shoot the woman as soon as they had a positive identification. Not the most subtle of ideas, and probably one that would get them both dismissed from the service. But if this woman had the kind of skill set they thought she did, then any soft approach, like trying to get her alone, could only fail. And that would be worse, wouldn’t it? In the end, Reuben decided to play it by ear. The woman was a threat, but she might be a greater threat if they revealed themselves to soon, so go in nice and quiet and see what happens.
Jacobs led them to a white-painted double door and opened both of them to reveal a Georgian room where four people sat in antique chairs. Jacobs introduced Reuben and Hannah and then left, closing the door behind him. Hannah recognised Sir Richard Stanton, the Secretary of State for Defence appeared on television and in newspapers with monotonous regularity. But, she had to admit as he rose to greet them, he did have an undefinable quality that put her at ease.
“Call me Richard,” he said, holding Hannah’s hand a fraction too long. He held a confidence that only the rich and powerful exuded.
Stanton introduced them to the others. His wife first, who remained seated and nodded a greeting that rattled her cup and saucer. Then another couple, an industrialist from up north and his wife. They both looked a little ill at ease with Stanton in the room.
Hannah sat next to the wife, Helen, and asked, “Is this all the guests?” Even though she knew there was someone missing.
Stanton answered. “No. There’s one more. I’m not sure if you know but my younger brother, Alec, died in that dreadful explosion in Cornwall. The Prime Minister is having a private meeting with his partner at the moment. She should be out to join us very soon.”
Hannah hoped the look she shot at Reuben wasn’t too obvious. A private meeting with the P.M. Was Alec Stanton’s partner their mystery woman? Surely not. Reuben seemed uncertain, missing a question the industrialist asked him. The awkwardness of the situation changed when they all heard a crack of thunder from outside.
Hannah took the opportunity to stand and get over to the window. Everyone else looked shocked, even Reuben. Hannah willed him to come and stand by her. She looked out of the window. The weather looked good. Sunlight dappled nearby woodland and cloud shadows danced across farmland. So why the thunder?
Eventually, Reuben came to stand next to her. “If the other guest is the woman we’re after, then the P.M. is in danger,” Hannah whispered. “We need to get to her.”
“But quietly,” Reuben said, and then frowned. “What’s that?”
Hannah followed the direction Reuben pointed and saw figures running in a field.
“Protestors?” she suggested.
Hannah saw a dark coloured Range Rover disappear down a lane. That gave her a chance to say, “When we arrived, Jacobs brought us straight to you. I must admit we had been on the road a while so I haven’t had a chance for a break.”
Stanton edged closer, touching Hannah’s back with his hand. “You mean you need to powder your nose?” he asked in a way that made her skin go cold.
“You could put it that way,” Hannah said. “And I guess you too, Reuben?”
“It would be a good idea to freshen up,” Reuben said.
“There’s a bell in the corner, ring it, and Jacobs will come.”
Reuben did the ringing, and a minute later Jacobs came into the room like a ghost. Reuben told him that he and Hannah wanted a comfort break. Jacobs looked at them as if only common people had bodily functions like that before he nodded and led them from the room. A few paces down the corridor, Hannah said, “Jacobs?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Which room is the Prime Minister having her meeting in?”
The butler stopped and turned to her with a frown. “It’s a private meeting,” he said as if Hannah was a child. “They are not to be disturbed.”
“We believe the Prime Minister is in danger,” Reuben said.
Jacobs’ right eyebrow rose in surprise. “Danger? I doubt it, security here is excellent and...”
“Which room?” Hannah asked, her voice sharp.
The butler lifted a hand to his left lapel. “I have a panic button here,” he said. “Your invitation came through Downing Street, so I’m sure you are here on legitimate grounds but I...”
Hannah pulled her ID out with one hand and her gun out with the other. “Here’s my invitation,” she said. “Now, which room?”
Jacobs swallowed. A quick look showed Reuben was armed as well. “You think she’s in danger?” he asked
“Yes.” Hannah wanted to kick the guy up the rear for being such a dick.
“Follow me.”
He still didn’t get the urgency, maintaining his constant ‘butler speed’ as they left one corridor for another, crossing the huge reception hall that reminded Hannah of Sheddlestone. Hannah saw the imposing portraits of previous Prime Ministers as they walked passed them; Henry Pelham, William Lamb, Arthur Balfour and Stanley Baldwin all looked down on them until they saw a man standing outside a closed door.
Jacobs came to a halt and said to Reuben and Hannah, “Thomas is the Prime Minister’s close protection officer.” To Thomas, he said, “These people are with the security services. They believe the P.M. is in danger.”
“I checked the room before the meeting began and ran a body scanner over the woman meeting the Prime Minister,” Thomas said. “Everything is fine, and the P.M. has a panic alarm if she feels threatened.”
“We go in now,” Reuben said.
Thomas held up a hand. “No. I’ll knock first.”
“Just open the door,” Hannah said.
“There are protocols to follow in...”
Thomas’s words were cut off as, from inside the room, a woman screamed.
***
Ben didn’t like the way things were going. They were struggling through a field left fallow where waist length grass made walking a nightmare. He’d stumbled a couple of times on unseen hazards, and Emily had gone down hard once that left her in tears. Throw on top of that a recent clap of thunder that had scared the pants off him, and he’d begun to wish that he’d not insisted so hard on abandoning their rifles. Thunder like that on a sunny day made him think of an English village where a demon had tried to take over the world.
The sound of a car engine took him by surprise, and its appearance through a break in the tree line that Ben hadn’t seen came as an even bigger shock. The Range Rover slewed to a halt, and both driver and front-seat passenger came out to confront them. Passenger stood in front of them and Driver off to the side.
“Okay, folks,” Passenger said. “You’re on private property so if you could just turn around and head back the way you’ve come we’ll all be happy.”
“Private property?” Kramer said in her best American accent. “Really?”
“Yes,” Passenger said. “So we need you to turn around.”
“Like is this field owned by that house over there?”
Passenger instinctively turned to where Kramer pointed at Chequers. “Yes.”
“Is it open to the public?” Kramer gave him her brightest smile. “We saw it from the road, and we know a lot of big houses here in the UK can be visited by tourists. We like old places like that, don’t we honey?”
Ben took that as his cue to look and sound like a tourist. “We sure do. We’ve got some places like that back home, but no-one does grand houses like you Brits.”
“We’re fans of Downton Abbey,” Kramer added. “We haven’t missed an episode.”
Passenger and Driver exchanged a look, and both of them relaxed. Ben saw it on their faces. Americans.
“The house is privately owned,” Passenger said. “I’m afraid it’s not open to the public.”
“So is there a road over these trees?” Ben asked. “It’d be a lot easier to walk on than this grass.”
“Yes, there is. If you...”
A blood-curdling howl stopped Passenger mid-sentence. Running figures swept the grass aside. Ben’s hand went around his back, and he pulled his gun out. Passenger and Driver were transfixed. They’d never seen anything like this. Red-skinned figures, maybe three feet tall, carrying swords and shields.
Geordie fired first. He had the clearest zone. Passenger and Driver reacted to that.
“You’re armed.”
“Of course we’re fucking armed,” Geordie shouted. “How the hell do you think we’ve survived this long.”
Kramer grabbed Emily and ran for the Range Rover. Passenger tried to stop her until her elbow hit his cheekbone and he went down with blood on his face. That made Driver go for Kramer as well. Things got frantic. Geordie gunned down two more of the sprites as Ben plunged through the grass and rugby tackled Driver. They went down in a heap. Ben saw Kramer throw Emily into the back of the vehicle. He came to his feet and saw the sprites were almost on them. “Geordie, the car,” he shouted.
Driver kicked Ben’s legs out from under him. As he hit the ground, Ben saw a hand coming for his throat. He blocked it and felt his right arm go numb. Driver rose, coming at him again. Ben lashed out with one leg, hitting the guy in the groin. Driver grunted, his blow coming in weak on Ben who got hold of the arm and rolled with it, throwing Driver onto his side. Ben twisted Driver’s arm. “We’re on the same side,” Ben said.
“No, you’re not,” Driver said and bucked.
“Scarrett. Now!” Kramer’s voice held an edge of desperation that got Ben clear of Driver as the sprites howled their way in to attack. He saw his gun lying in the grass and grabbed it, putting three rounds into the mass of bodies.
Geordie sat behind the wheel of the Range Rover. He floored the accelerator and swept the vehicle around on full lock. Sprites bounce off the bodywork and fell under the wheels. A door swung open, and Ben dived for it. As he hit the footwell, the door banged down on his legs. Pain tore up his body. Someone grabbed him and pulled him in as the door slammed shut. Ben struggled up as the car slid to a halt. He knelt in the back with Kramer and Emily.
Looking over Geordie’s shoulder, Ben saw Passenger standing in their way. He held a gun in a two-handed grip and aimed at Geordie’s head. The gun vanished as a sword sliced down through both arms. Passenger’s mouth dropped open in horror as his hands fell to the ground. Blood plumed from the stumps of his arms. Passenger didn’t get a chance to scream. The next sweep of the blade took his head off. Ben looked away,
out of the side window. The view wasn’t much better. Driver had got to his knees and died there as an axe split his chest open from throat to abdomen. Blood and guts spilled out to the delight of the sprites.
“Where’s Congrave?” Ben shouted as Geordie put the car in reverse and they rattled their way up the slope away from the main mass of sword-wielding sprites.
“Out there somewhere, all camouflaged,” Geordie said.
“Then try not to run him over.” Ben pushed himself onto the rear seat. His legs hurt and when he reached down pain flared when he touched the injured area. A little experiment showed he could move his feet but only at the expense of more shooting pains up his legs.
Geordie braked hard. “Thanks for reminding me,” he said.
They sat in the vehicle, the sprites coming towards them. Within seconds they surrounded the car. Ben waited for the attack, but it never came. A golden curtain seemed to descend, and he saw the ephemeral shapes of Emily’s guardian angels appear. Where the sprites came into contact with the angels they died in violent flashes of light as the power of the angels was unleashed. Ben shielded his eyes. More sprites came, and the angels fell back closer to the car. One seemed to fade and disappear, stretching the curtain thinner. Another blinked out of existence, and a sprite lashed his sword against the bodywork of the car.
Then Kramer said, “There, near that tree. I can see him waving.”
“Got him.” Geordie wasted no time. He swung the Range Rover left, side-swiped half-a-dozen sprites to their doom and drove straight at Congrave. “Get the door ready.”
Easier said than done. There was no room in the back for Congrave, so Ben shoved his way between the front seats and released the front passenger door as they came alongside him. Congrave scrambled in as Kramer dragged Ben back into place.
“Lock the doors,” Congrave said.
The clunk of the central-locking made Ben think of a prison with no way out. More and more of the red-skinned sprites were appearing, and Geordie seemed to be taking the car further from the gap the Range Rover had first come through. Ben looked around, hoping to see the inspiration for an escape. Instead, he saw something that made him gasp.
The Anomaly (Scarrett & Kramer Book 2) Page 30
