He didn’t admit she was wearing a hybrid textile the Zoos had access to, designed to be dart and needle resistant.
“And Wanda? She’s even more vulnerable, a larger target area.”
“That’s why we have to stop Bête first. I’ll be back.”'
He crossed the course to where a covert Zoo was watching near the lobster sculpture alternative. “Salut, Homard. Keep watching Bellerophon while I turn away.”
He switched to the covert net.
“Loup to Ouistiti, ready to use the Euphorbia dart. Target unaware and confirmed. First, we need to find and fix Bête. Over.”
When he returned, Lina was checking in with her recruits.
“No sightings.”
Cross-country control confirmed the situation on the fence judges net, saying, “We’re still waiting for number thirteen, Gevaudan Blood,” before adding, “but we have our first starter in the box.”
“Macabre name for a horse,” said Lina, unaware of the coded message to the Zoos. “Why not Gevaudan Dalliance?”
“People are strange, as we know.”
*
The horse cleared the first log-topped bank and dropped over the large hedge into the water—the quick route again. The going was making the time achievable, but dark clouds were gathering in the distance and threatening the sunshine.
The pace of the horse was just right, ideal for clearing the fence on the island mound. Perfect speed for a marksman’s shot.
So, where’s Mick—Bête?
Lina was scanning the crowd with image-stabilised binoculars.
“Another call for number thirteen, Gevaudan Blood. Please tell us if you intend to run.”
“Ouistiti to Zoos, Renarde about to start, over.”
He controlled his breathing and his fears.
We will stop Bête. He must be here.
“Ouistiti to Zoos, on the cross. Into zone one, over.”
He glanced at his watch. Carly would enter this target zone in five, maybe six minutes. He prayed for protection, divine if necessary.
“Just started, Carly Tanner and Sorcière des Saules, winners of the Saumur three star, and a combination with great potential; we’re sure, one to watch.”
Gilles’s commentary continued to track Carly and Wanda’s measured passage around the first part of the course. She had made it over the walls and the narrow brush at five.
“Blanculet, clear zone two, over.”
As she approached, the key points identified were secure. Lina had endorsed their decisions, but would Bête?
The sky darkened, and he saw people put on jackets against the impending storm. Instead of bright t-shirts and sweaters, there were now dark muted shades and the odd splash of colour. The conditions he dreaded, treacherous under hoof and foot with low visibility.
He spotted a movement, a flash on the slope into the zone—harsh sunlight on metal. A twinge of memory shot up his spine, and he was helpless. It was too far to run, and if false, he would be out of position. Why had he missed the threat, again?
The cameraman panned as Wanda sailed effortlessly over the triple hedges. No time wasted in the set-up. No time lost in the air. Spectators applauded.
She’s the real flying horse.
Then, he saw an old man with a walking stick hovering beside Lina. Maybe an elderly diehard follower, or perhaps it was Bête in disguise? It was too far away to decide clearly. The animated exchange with Lina was inaudible against the crowd’s excitement, but the gestures provoked Loup’s auto response.
“Brochet, clear zone three, over.”
Armand forced his way through the swell that was building in his path.
“Loup, intrusion, zone five. Homard track Renarde, over.”
A swift thrust of Bête’s arm. Lina’s hand chopped towards his neck. He squirmed free as she flailed the air, then struck his departing heel.
Armand reached her as she sank to her knees. The blood seeped out from under Lina’s jacket.
“Get him. I’ll be okay.”
He turned to where Bête dodged through the crowd, no longer a sick old man. “Loup, in pursuit of Bête, over.”
Her wound could be severe if the knife had struck under the armour, but as he left, someone else had reached down to help her. On the covert net, he alerted the others that she was injured, without Gilles hearing.
As he talked on the radio, Armand tried to close on Bête, who slithered through the crowd.
A couple blocked the path, pointing at the approaching horse.
“Homard, entering zone four. Loup pursuing Bête. Am assisting, over.”
Wanda turned towards the water.
Armand closed on Bête. Too late. The assassin raised his hound-headed walking stick.
SIXTY-THREE
The water slowed the mare, but her momentum carried her forward. Carly asked for another leap and Wanda obliged. A sharp stab in her right thigh made Carly wince, but she tried to ignore it.
They were clearing the hedge without wasting any effort, but then Wanda tripped on landing.
Carly wondered if the stumble was the mare’s leg. Bad timing—she’d been so sound.
The worry was fleeting as Wanda responded with another burst, plumes of water flying off as they sailed out over the second hedged bank and onwards.
She leant forward and patted the mare then glanced at her watch. They were slightly up on the time, which was good.
Except, now her thigh was aching and her face was wet. Sweat? Or the first signs of rain? She glanced at the darkening sky, as they galloped towards the let-up fence before the next complex. Thick clouds were closing in over the park.
She wiped her face, wet with perspiration before the rain hit.
Then, they were over the fence and curving left-handed towards Hailing The Cab. The skies unleashed their fury in sheets, and visibility closed down. Wanda slid on the slick ground, studs tearing at the grass as they fought for grip.
Should she choose time or safety? It needed to be a quick choice, and she made an instant change of route.
“In the wet, it might be wiser to go longer.” Gilles’s words echoed in her head. Time would cost less than a run-out, but she could hardly see the fences, let alone the treacherous undulations.
She glimpsed the first element in the gloom and rode for it. As Wanda cleared it, the decision was locked in. Having walked the fence enough times, Carly knew the correct striding, and the mare trusted her.
Wanda’s abilities now came into play. They weaved through the complex, taxis looming in sequence, the mare precise each time.
Except now, Carly’s head spun, her body ached, and she was soaked. The downpour continued to bite into her and Wanda. Was the mare slowing too much?
She glanced at her stopwatch. It had misted up. There was no choice; she had to guess and use a hunting pace suited to this track.
But there was something else. Usually, she would suspect a hypo, except she had double-checked her levels, and had calculated for the adrenaline surge. The wet and cold would be having an effect, but her dual pump should compensate. She was confused. She needed glucose fast, but nothing happened, and the next fence was upon them.
Thankfully, Wanda knew what was needed—or was she tiring too?
As they turned down the avenue of cedars towards the final group of fences, she remembered the stinging pain at the water. Had someone done something to her? A name hovered out of reach, somewhere in the driving storm.
She willed herself and Wanda on. We must make it for Armand, and for Mum. The hunger and the pain had to wait. The crowd of faces blurred into rain, leaves and deer.
Or were those deer sculptures?
Her focus had to be on the last three fences, not their embellishments. She was so nearly home. Except, her body just wanted to slip off, but she had to hold on.
The noise was deafening. It sounded like a dam bursting. She was being tossed upwards. Blinding light rushed by, a spectrum of colours as she was swept along. Balance
failing, fighting to stay aboard, but she was sliding again.
The ground was so much more secure. The chaotic movement had stopped. Her eyes took in the horse looking down at her, the blue of the sky, the scudding clouds and the crows. Now she ached everywhere and realised the pounding was in her head and her chest.
Faces were peering at her as a voice said, “Her vital signs are erratic. We need to get her checked, urgently, or we may lose her.”
SIXTY-FOUR
The torrential downpour made the pursuit difficult. At one point, Armand’s quarry cut across the course just as a horse approached. Armand waited and then leapt over the ropes and ran down the slope. He managed to stay in sight for a while, despite the crafty feints and jinks, but the volume of the crowd was against him. He tried calling for backup from the other Zoos, but it was to no avail.
It was as if Bête had staked out a route and was using confederates—the people casually blocking the path—to keep him at bay. Like a nightmare, Armand never seemed to get any closer.
Then, he heard the loudspeakers. “Carly Tanner has cleared the last on Sorcière des Saules. It’s been a brave round in these conditions. Wait... maudit, she just fell...”
A gust of blinding rain and the groan of the home crowd drowned out the rest. Clutching at the crazy comfort that everyone needed her to win, he sprinted for the finishing area.
The commentator had changed, supplying distinct, but uninformative info about the other riders negotiating the course, but no news of Carly and Wanda.
Vengeance spurred him towards Bête, at last, hemmed in by the crowd, and Faucon.
Armand grabbed the arm as the stiletto slid towards him. His sidestep diverted the blow.
“Too late. The bitch will die.”
Mick tried to wrestle free, rolling like a jockey and then lashing out with his knee.
Armand absorbed it and twisted it under him.
“I’ve done you a favour stopping the killer. Vix will live—if you give us the mare.”
Faucon helped force him to stand. Mick relaxed and put his hands forward as if ready for Faucon to handcuff him. They slackened their grip, and he jumped over the ropes.
Armand plucked a bolas from his belt and swung its weighted cords. He released the weapon. The bolas spun through the air towards the fugitive. The cords entangled his legs, and he staggered.
The ambulance skidded to avoid Mick, but the paramedics were rushing to the finish and couldn’t miss. Their vehicle hit him full on, the impetus throwing his body over the roof, and onto the ground, where he squirmed, clutching his stomach.
The driver leapt out.
“Jesus Christ, I was responding to a faller. Now we’ve got ourselves a goddamn suicide.”
“Don’t worry; he caused the fall. Just treat him, we’ll send the police.”
As Armand ran to the finish and tried to ignore the air ambulance approaching, he realised the driver had a Canadian accent.
“Loup to Ouistiti, Bête neutralised. Any news on Renarde? Over.”
The crowd gathered at the finish concerned him.
“Ouistiti to Loup, down but conscious. They’re checking her now, over.”
He could see the crumpled figure on the grass with a doctor kneeling beside her. Ouistiti came over and reassured Armand.
“She’ll be okay. She rode across the finish and then just slid off. Admitted she was exhausted. The conditions were horrendous. She was more concerned about Wanda.”
They watched as a doctor helped Carly into a Range Rover.
As the sun returned and banished the last of the summer storm, he tried to remain positive.
“Perhaps Mick missed. This collapse was just the weather and the general pressure.”
“Câlice, you dash after Mick and leave Lina bleeding.”
He turned. Gilles was sitting on the tailgate of a paramedic ambulance.
Lina was inside and said, “Don't listen to him, Loup. You did your best. It was me he caught unguarded, and the armour deflected the blow, so it’s only a flesh wound. I’ll live.”
“Maudit, you said the wound was throbbing badly when I reached you. That’s not like you.”
“I’ve experienced worse. As I’m sure you have, Loup. We’re both fighters, aren’t we?”
“But some fight dirty. They use poison or worse. Or is that justified against vermin?”
Armand climbed inside, palming the dart as he knelt beside the killer. He leant over and kissed her on the cheek one last time, scratching her skin with the thorn.
“It's not my way, but my cousin Odette wanted flowers, Euphorbia.”
SIXTY-FIVE
The last few hours had been a blur. All Armand wanted was to be with Carly, and instead, he was in the Peugeot heading for Fenburgh.
I never wanted it to end this way, but it’s the way Gilles has chosen. So, he’s headed to the only bolt-hole he has left in England.
Armand turned off the M11 knowing what the Canadian hoped to find there—the same thing that had led Mick to the stud—but they would never get the last piece to complete Project Pegasus.
“Loup to Blanculet, how’s Carly doing? I’m about to contact Harfang. Just need to check positions. Over.”
“Blanculet to Loup, she’s still asleep. On schedule. Over and out.”
“Loup to Ouistiti, what’s our target’s status? Over.”
“Ouistiti to Loup, Harfang’s contacts have reacted as expected. Confirm Vecheech paramedics took Bellerophon and Bête to Fenburgh. Arrest warrants have been issued, and there’s an all-ports warning circulating to stop any of them leaving the country. Over.”
“So, the Harfang jet was held at Stansted as requested? Over.”
“Grounded due to a bomb alert. The airport authorities told Gilles the incident could delay his departure by 24 hours. Hareng Rouge is now working within the Vecheech and Vidarranj servers, so incursion on schedule. Over.”
“But Vecheech’s medical team were allowed in? Over.”
“As arranged. Monitored communications indicate they have already set up a private intensive care facility at Fenburgh. Over and out.”
Lina will face death, even with their specialists. The euphorbia sap will complicate Mick’s deadly venom. Toxins are confusing. And if Hareng Rouge has crossed over, someone hacked into Mick’s computer recently. Good, that will add to the confusion, as Gilles must be searching for the hidden secrets.
Armand wasn’t ready to relax yet, but as every familiar landmark brought them closer, the trap was closing.
He called Faucon and asked when they would be in position.
“We’ll be inside the stud by 00:30. The Inspector needs to know your location.”
“Just past Shippea Hill on A1101. ETA at Fenburgh Stud is 00:35. Frontal arranged. Police co-operation appreciated. Over and out.”
Armand auto-dialled Gilles’s mobile.
“Hi, is Lina recovering okay? We can’t lose them both.”
“Praying for her, but she’s worse. Mick won’t talk, and the medics are mystified as it’s no poison they know. They thought it was an anti-coagulant, but the symptoms are confused. She’s conscious, but unable to speak, except she keeps trying. Batêche, the shaking, the burning rash...”
“Might have the toxin ID’d from the dagger we found at the site. We have an antidote, but it will cost you, friend.”
“Maudit, it’s for Lina for god’s sake... okay, name your price.”
“Simple. We need the antidote for Mick’s dart. He either has it on him, or he’s hidden it at Fenburgh.”
Vecheech held the report that had made the dart feasible to produce, regardless of how they had explained the theft, and it was Lina’s research throughout.
Another reason to let her die.
“Nothing on Mick, but we found a lot of antidotes here, and we’re still looking. How is Vix? Any clue to the infection? What’s the analysis? Tailor made?”
The search was primarily for the final Pegasus materials, but ho
wever hard the Vecheech team searched Fenburgh, they wouldn’t find the illusory DNA goldmine that Hareng Rouge had created.
Armand reached the roundabout and turned onto the A10 heading north alongside the river.
“Vix is still in a diabetic coma. Our med team says it’s chronic Somogyi rebound. Mick used a modified insulin analogue to trigger a hypo. Now she’s fluctuating from hypo to hyper. Conventional treatment only exacerbates it. I need that antidote. Please.”
“Don’t panic, Loup. She has exceptional metabolism, all Lina’s tests proved that. I’m sure we can find an antidote here, but please...” The tears sounded genuine, which was good. “Lina is dying and... just come; I’ll turn the alarms off.”
“Okay be there in ten, just after half past midnight. Be brave.”
Armand smiled and turned onto the road across the fens to the stud. Lina was proving to be his weakness, even now, undermining his inflexible Harfang persona. But would he sacrifice everything for her?
*
At 00:30, the floodlights around the pseudo-Georgian mansion flickered as Gilles turned off the alarms.
“Loup to Zoos, going in. Maintain silence. Activate Hareng Rouge follow up. Over.”
“Faucon to Loup, in position. Understood. The line will remain open. Over and out.”
As he turned into Fenburgh’s main drive, additional security lights came on, bathing the buildings and paddocks. His frontal approach would be on camera for Gilles to monitor from the main house, even if the alarms were silent.
In the floodlights, the avenue of trees threw etched silhouettes across the drive. Among the remaining shadows, he could detect crouched figures waiting. The moon was entering its last quarter, but its light was still another searchlight in the cloudless sky. Zoos had already climbed onto the roofs using grapnels and were ready to blind the CCTV cameras with random images, before the final act.
Pulling up to the front door, he noted that Gilles had never sold his Impreza; he had parked his precious car under the balustrades.
SIXTY-SIX
Armand could tell that the drip was doing nothing to stem the tremors or help Lina’s mouth emit more than croaks. Even the straps failed to achieve their purpose. Her eyes flickered open and shut. It would not be long now.
Spiral of Hooves Page 24
