by Glenn Cooper
“So why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t see the point. Better for you to think you had one on me.”
“You’re a fucker, you know that?” Rix said.
“So I’ve been told. As recently as tonight.”
Rix pointed at the two MI5 officers with Ben. “Just you lot?”
“And you.”
“You deputizing us?” Murphy laughed.
“Something like that.”
“Are you armed?” Rix asked.
“I’m not. They are. We’ll put down in the same field as before.”
“Thirty minutes to touchdown,” the pilot announced.
Murphy whispered into Rix’s ear. “Do you think our gals are there?”
“I hope not, Murph, I bloody hope not.”
“You watch them,” Talley told Youngblood. “We’ll be back with drink. And don’t start the raping till we’ve returned.”
Youngblood stuffed more sliced bread in his mouth and pointed a kitchen knife at Molly and Christine. “Don’t you try nothing with me or I’ll crash you good.”
Hathaway, Talley, and Chambers walked down Low Street toward the Swan. The village was dark and quiet. They passed a car parked nose-out in a small driveway and failed to notice a man ducking down in the driver’s seat.
Constable Kent waited until they were gone and quietly got out. He let them get some distance on him then followed until they disappeared around the back of the pub.
He called Ben’s mobile but got voice mail. After leaving a brief message he resumed his pursuit.
The landlord of the Swan was the last one in the pub, doing his final cleanup. He’d locked the front door but not the rear and when he saw Hathaway come in he said, “We’re closed, mate.”
Hathaway kept coming, followed by the two others.
“Did you not hear me? We’re closed.”
“Yeah, but we’re thirsty,” Hathaway said.
The landlord, a young, fit fellow didn’t seem much intimidated. He had an old cricket bat behind the bar and showed it. “You’d best be out of here or I’ll call the police.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Hathaway said with a toothy grin.
“Look, gents, this is a nice quiet village pub. I don’t court trouble but I don’t shy from it either.” The rovers sidled up to the bar, close enough for the publican to smell them. “What’s with you anyway?” he asked.
“We’ve come a very long way to drink at your establishment,” Hathaway said, admiring the hearth and the beams. “Very old worldsy. Now are you going to serve us or are we going to have to serve ourselves?”
Something caught the eye of the landlord. A face at the front window of the pub.
Constable Kent signaled with his hand that he was coming around to the rear.
The young man raised the bat defensively but in the blink of an eye, Talley and Chambers vaulted the bar and were on him, biting, gouging, punching.
“You, stop!” Kent shouted, coming around from the lounge bar. “Police.”
Hathaway had been admiring the killing going on and looked up. “You’re the police, old man?” he asked. “Come on in, have a drink with us. It’s your last orders, mate.”
The landing lights floodlit the dark field. The helicopter put down and with torches in hand, the MI5 team and the Hellers ran toward Low Street. Ben’s voicemail chirped and he saw it was from the policeman. He listened to the message on the run and told everyone to stop.
“The pub,” he said. “They went to the pub.”
They crept to the window by the front door and one of the agents looked in. The lights were on. The man swore and drew his gun.
“One man down,” he whispered. “Blood everywhere.”
“Watch the front,” Ben said to him. “We’ll go in the back.”
The second armed officer led the way into the rear door. Constable Kent was on the floor in the public bar, mutilated beyond recognition. Ben swallowed hard and checked his revulsion as he retrieved Kent’s wallet and identity card.
“Rover work,” Rix said.
“There’s another bloke behind the bar,” Murphy said. “Barman possibly.”
Ben instructed them to open the front door to the other agent and told them to search the premises.
“They won’t be here,” Rix said. “They’ll have loaded up with booze and gone back to their new nest.”
The men ran up Low Street and crept toward the front windows of the trellised cottage. Crouched in the flowerbeds, Ben pointed at Rix to look inside.
The curtains were closed but there was a small gap between them.
He saw men’s legs walking past. Then he saw a hand resting on the arm of a chair. A woman’s hand. He changed his position slightly to see more. He made out a few wisps of hair and an ear.
Christine.
Murphy saw his expression change as fear and anger set in.
Rix frog stepped away from the window and motioned for the others to follow him a few yards away.
“Our girls are there,” he said to Murphy.
Ben asked, “Your wives?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see both of them?” Murphy asked.
“Just Christine.”
“As this is a hostage situation, perhaps we’d better call for reinforcements,” Ben said.
“No time for that,” Murphy said. “They’ll get boozed-up fast then very bad things’ll happen.”
“We’ve got to go in now, and we’ve got to go in hard,” Rix said. “You lads have got to go in shooting to kill.”
“We don’t operate that way,” Ben said. “Regardless of the circumstances, we will take these men into custody lawfully and use lethal force only if absolutely necessary.”
“And I thought you were a smart bloke,” Rix said. “Believe me, it’ll be necessary.”
Ben sent one of his men to the rear with Murphy and told them to await his verbal signal.
Ben, Rix, and the other armed agent made for the front door.
Ben took some deep breaths while the agent gingerly tested the doorknob. It turned. Ben nodded at him and shouted, “Go!” at the top of his lungs.
The front room was so small that upon entry they were in the thick of it with the rovers and the women with little room to maneuver. When Murphy and the other agent pressed in from the kitchen it was almost impossible to move.
Christine’s eyes met Rix’s for the briefest moment before the melee began and Molly shouted, “Colin!”
Ben was the first to go down with a whiskey bottle to the head. One of the MI5 men made the snap decision that lethal force was indeed on the table but before he could fire his weapon, Youngblood clamped down on his neck with his teeth and ripped out a hunk of flesh along with his jugular. The other agent had better luck and got off a pointblank shot into Chambers’ head before Talley stabbed him under his ribs with an upwards killing thrust.
Talley turned to Murphy with a grotesque smile and said, “Come on, then. I’ll cannie you and rape your woman and then I’ll cannie her.”
With the pent-up rage of thirty years in Hell, Murphy launched himself at Talley.
Hathaway grabbed Christine by the hair and pulled her out of her chair into a chokehold.
“Come on, Jason,” he taunted. “I want you to be watching me break her fucking neck.”
“No, you come on, Lucas,” Rix said, his chest heaving. “Be man enough to take me on. Winner gets Christine. What do you say?”
Youngblood’s mouth was red. Primed with violence he wanted more and he turned his attention to Rix whom he swatted in the face with the back of his fist.
Rix took the blow and after an impotent glance toward Christine, he furiously engaged Youngblood, fighting like rovers fight with hands, feet, and teeth.
Hathaway seemed to enjoy watching the fighting but suddenly he yelped and turned around. Molly had picked up one of the rover’s kitchen knives and buried it in his flank. Hathaway let go of Ch
ristine, sneered at Molly and punched her in the jaw.
“Molly!” Murphy yelled. He and Talley had bloodied but when he saw his wife motionless on the ground, he went into orbit. He landed a hard punch to Talley’s Adam’s apple and when he began to cough and choke, Murphy kneed him in the groin then hit him again in the neck even harder. Talley’s face went blue and he fell to his knees, choking to death.
Youngblood outweighed Rix by forty pounds and was getting the better of him. A crushing blow to the top of his head put Rix on the floor beside a stirring Ben. The whiskey bottle that knocked Ben out was lying there. Rix took it and swung it hard, breaking it against Youngblood’s knee.
Youngblood screamed in pain and doubled over giving Rix the target he wanted. With an uppercut, he shoved the broken bottle into Youngblood’s belly and he kept thrusting and twisting it until the rover’s shirt was soaked with blood. He didn’t stop until Youngblood crashed to the floor, lifeless.
Murphy saw an opening and dragged Molly away from the fray to the kitchen.
Rix wheeled around at the sound of Christine’s cry.
Hathaway had the knife Molly had used on him and had Christine back in a chokehold.
“Lucas, don’t!” Rix cried.
“Now you’re going to see this knife in her brain!” Hathaway shouted.
He raised his knife arm high to bring it down.
There was an explosion.
Hathaway’s nose was gone replaced by an angry red cavity. He fell backwards against the blood-splattered wall.
Rix looked down at Ben. He was lying on his side, his arms extended, holding a dead agent’s gun.
“Bloody good shot,” Rix said, helping him up.
Christine was in his arms in a tick.
“We didn’t know you were over here,” she sobbed.
“Yeah, but we knew you were,” he said, kissing her.
“Who’s he?”
“This is Ben Wellington,” Rix said. “He’s a Pooh-Bah with MI5. It seems our lot is too much for ordinary coppers.”
Ben felt his bloody scalp and said woozily, “Pleased to meet you, Christine. We’ve been looking for you.” He surveyed the carnage at his feet. “Christ.”
“There’s your lawful arrest,” Rix said. He called into the kitchen. “Murph, how’s Molly?”
“She’s coming around.”
Christine looked at Rix. He told her to go to Molly.
Ben sat down and removed the magazine from the pistol and unchambered the live round. “Thank you,” he said. “They would have killed me too.”
“I’m sorry you’ve lost men,” Rix said. “What now?”
“Now? Let me think. I’d better get a cleanup squad up here immediately. We’ll need a cover story. God, so much to do. Let’s get back to the chopper. We’ll have the medics meet us in Dartford.”
“You’re going to lock us up again?”
“Yes, but you’ll be with your wives.” He felt his head again and mumbled, “Which is where I should be. With mine.”
Christine climbed the stairs alone. Her mother was asleep, oblivious to everything that had occurred. She bent over and kissed her on the forehead.
“Good-bye, mum,” she said. “Please remember your little girl, all right?”
Downstairs, her cheeks wet with tears, she asked Ben if he was certain things would get sorted.
“I just talked with my people. A large crew is already on the way. By the time her carer arrives in the morning no one will be the wiser and she’ll have new carpet. The mess in the pub’s another problem entirely but we’ll sort something out there too. Christ, I’ve got to find out about my pair’s next of kin.”
The five of them left through the back door and made their way through the village and the fields to the waiting helicopter, Murphy holding onto Molly, Rix, arm around Christine, and Ben at the rear, giving a phone debriefing to an MI5 incident group which was assembling at Thames House.
The women climbed into the Gazelle first. Ben wobbled a bit, dizzy from his concussion. Rix stepped up and helped him in then reached into the cab to buckle his belt.
Ben looked at him curiously.
“Sorry, mate. We’ve got some unfinished business,” Rix said. “Take care of our girls.”
And with that, he and Murphy disappeared into the night.
Ben tried to unbuckle himself but he realized he was too ill to give chase.
He sighed heavily and asked the women, “Did they tell you they were going to do this?”
They nodded.
“Did they say where they were going?”
“We haven’t got a clue,” Christine said. “But they’ll come back to us. I know they will.”
It was so dark they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.
“Is anyone there?” It was Youngblood’s voice, not five feet away.
“Fuck, is that you, Youngblood?” Hathaway said.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
There was another voice. “Crashed us good.”
“Talley,” Hathaway laughed.
“Where are we?” Talley asked.
They heard trees rustling and an owl calling in the distance.
“Near a wood,” Youngblood said.
“Back in Hell, are we?” Talley said.
“Where else?” Hathaway said, picking himself off the grass. “Can’t believe I died a second time. Bloody marvelous. Fucking Colin and Jason. It’s all tied between us. I killed them once, they killed me once.”
“We had a time, didn’t we?” Talley said, getting up. “Plenty of good grub, good drink.”
“Not much raping though,” Youngblood said.
“I reckon we’re a good old ways from Ockendon,” Hathaway said. “We ought to find our way back.”
“Why?” Talley said. “Rovers can make do most anywhere. There’s bound to be a village we can plunder.”
“I’d rather be back in Ockendon in case Jason and Colin and their molls wind up there again,” Hathaway said. “Tie needs to be broken.”
Their eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. They were in a clearing. There was indeed a wood nearby. A louder rustling confused them because there wasn’t much wind.
The rustling became a stampede of feet.
Then yells, yells they recognized.
Rover yells.
And before they could run, curved rover knives tore through their flesh.
In the morning, there would be nothing more than a pile of bloody bones with shreds hanging off them and in the woods, a party of rovers would be sleeping with bellies full of cannie-food.
34
Garibaldi called it a strategic retreat.
Stalin’s combined armies dwarfed his own. His Italian, French, and Iberian contingents made for a formidable fighting force but they only numbered several divisions, not a full army. Antonio had taken a thousand men to Rome and most of the Iberian army remained in Burgos with Queen Mécia. He needed the main French army and they were in Paris.
When John and his group made it to the Italian camp there had been scant time for greetings. Garibaldi had wanted to lay eyes on the children, of course, and he had defied his arthritic knees by dropping to the ground and playing with them for a while before addressing the raging battle.
Simon had made a beeline to the wagon and had helped Alice down, the two of them exchanging tender words.
While Garibaldi conferred with John and others on tactics, the Italians broke camp and prepared for a three hundred mile flight across the heart of Francia.
Garibaldi had stood over his map table and had said, “Five hundred brave men will impede Stalin’s advance with guerrilla tactics and give our main force enough time to make it back to Paris. Hopefully Forneau has been able to keep the peace in our absence and hold the alliance together.”
“Any news on Antonio?” John had asked.
Garibaldi had been unable to get the words out and it was left to Caravaggio to say it. “We had a messenger. The news is bad. Cate
rina Sforza betrayed us to King Alexander. The Macedonians have Roma and Napoli. Antonio is destroyed.”
“I’m sorry, Giuseppe,” John had said. “He was a good man. Christ, you’ve got a lot on your plate.”
“The first thing on this plate of mine is to help you fine people and these children get home,” Garibaldi had said. “Children should not and must not be subjected to our terrible world.”
Now after four days of hard travel Paris was within reach, only a day off. Time was of the essence. John began marking his countdown of days with exclamation points instead of lines. There were only seven days until the MAAC restart and they were still a long way from Dartford.
The rations were poor and the children had become listless. Along the way, Garibaldi reluctantly confiscated food from villages and towns. It was not the way to start his new reign of compassion but he had little choice. At least the people had not been subjected to torture and rape, the standard practice of foraging soldiers.
Messengers had been shuttling back and forth between the retreating column and the guerrilla vanguard and the reports were puzzling. Fighting along the front had dwindled and was sporadic at most. And almost all the wounded enemy soldiers they encountered were Germans, not Russians.
The consensus in the Italian camp was that Stalin had decided to wait to press his attack, perhaps to recruit more German forces from Barbarossa’s far-flung dukedoms, perhaps to await more men to arrive from Russian territories.
Whatever the explanation they breathed a collective sigh of relief the next morning when they entered the sprawling, walled city of Paris. Forneau and a large faction of loyal French nobles greeted the returning army with banners and flags. Forneau had indeed kept the alliance together.
There was little time for preparation and little time for goodbyes. The Earthers couldn’t afford to spend the night resting in Paris. Garibaldi had a hundred fresh troops mustered to take them the next leg. Bread, cheese, and dried meat were collected from the royal kitchens. Rested horses were exchanged for worn-out ones.
“Tell me where you intend to make your crossing?” Garibaldi asked the assembled Earthers.
John was about to say Calais, a beach he knew from past crossings, but Brian answered first. “Bulogne-sur-Mer,” he said. “That would be the best.”
