Operation: Endgame (Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Book 6)

by Pip Ballantine

  "I’ve got him," Henrietta said, and then three successive pops came from the comms, quickly echoing in the real world.

  Eliza struggled to keep up with Wellington as she was carrying considerably more firepower than he was. Still, he was within sight as they both leapt from one roof to another. A third leap, and a tile slipped from underneath her foot, but she had kept her balance forward. She stumbled a few steps before looking up to see Wellington bounding from rooftop to rooftop while Jekyll lumbered in the lead.

  Rapid gunfire thundered, and just ahead of Jekyll a veil of debris kicked up.

  "This is Shadow One," Aydin spoke from their comms. "I have the target sighted. I think he’s turning around."

  Jekyll was indeed doing so. He now faced Wellington and Eliza.

  "Yes, thank you," Wellington replied in his comm unit, "we can confirm that."

  "Have a care, I would imagine up close that hulking ox is quite nasty."

  Jekyll’s distorted face twisted, his lips curled into a snarl.

  "I think Jekyll can hear you, Agent Tilki."

  "So, Little Wellington," Jekyll said with a grunt, "this is where we dance once again? In the Constantinople moonlight, with your lovely lass at your side. How sweet."

  "So he wants to take a stand, does he?" Eliza asked, setting her haversack in front of her. "Fine. I brought an old friend for this very moment."

  Axelrod and Blackwell had been somewhat hard to pin down on improvements in their offerings from R&D. Many times her requests had received the reply, "The device does what we intended it to do, ergo it needs no improvement!" but Eliza was adamant on a particular weapon from the two clankertons. Katherina had been waiting for an upgrade since she had first rescued Wellington from the House of Usher in Antarctica. The high-velocity, high-calibre hand cannon that was barely a step under a grenade launcher had blown the doors of his interrogation room to a nice effect.

  Now, with improvements finally made, it was time for her to be let loose again.

  "Give me some room, darling," she said, bracing the arm holding Katherina against her chest.

  Wellington blinked. "Is that—?"

  "Yes."

  Jekyll snorted just before charging at a dead run towards them, the wound not seeming to hinder him in the least. With a toss of her head, Eliza drew aim and fired. Katherina’s kick was just as she remembered.

  Jekyll took the full force of the shot directly to the chest. It stopped him in his tracks, sending him back a step or two. Jekyll coughed once, twice, then resumed his charge. His monstrous form was the definition of resilience.

  Intent on making her point, Eliza dealt Jekyll two more shells in quick succession. His chest rippled from the points of impact, and this time he staggered back several steps, but he was still standing. He roared in outrage, but the roar ended with the monster choking to catch his breath. That made her smile.

  Jekyll glanced at both of them, then changed tact. Instead of coming at them, he turned and made a run for the edge of the rooftop.

  "Bugger me," Eliza swore, lowering Katerina as she countered his run.

  "What?" Wellington asked, keeping pace with her.

  "Katherina didn’t stop him, but she did take the wind out of his sails." She just needed him to stand still. "He’s getting tired."

  "If he’s getting tired, that means..."

  "He's not attacking."

  "Weren’t you pestering Axelrod and Blackwell to enhance that thing?" Wellington bellowed waving his hands towards the weapon.

  Eliza lowered the weapon. "They did," she said over her shoulder before raising Katerina.

  It had to be now.

  Eliza engaged the switch labelled "Hail, Mary" by Axelrod. The hand cannon hissed just before she took aim. She allowed herself a little lead before pulling the trigger.

  The shot lifted her off her feet and sent her back into Wellington. They both tumbled over, but they managed to see the round slam into Jekyll. The giant teetered, and he tried to lean forward, but there was no stopping his massive momentum. Jekyll’s form was slipping, both in footing and shape.

  His right foot slid into the night, followed by the rest of him.

  Jekyll screamed as he fell. Both of them scrambled to their feet and only took a few steps before there was a massive crash. They reached the edge of the rooftop to see Jekyll sprawled out in the street beneath them. He was still conscious, but barely.

  Eliza’s comm went live as she saw Jekyll sit up. "Shadow One, Shadow Two, move in!"

  He must have heard one of them to his right as he turned in that direction, but someone leapt out of the shadows and struck him in the neck. It looked as if Jekyll were about to backhand the attacker, but instead his arm went limp and he fell back with a dull thud against the street.

  "Overwatch, this is Shadow One. Sedative delivered," came the breathy report of Agent Tilki.

  Words were hardly adequate. All she could feel was the wide grin on her face, and the sweat running down her spine. Her partner was not smiling, simply staring down at the doctor as if he was about to bolt at any given moment.

  Wellington turned to look at her. "The enhancement?"

  Eliza motioned to where Jekyll had fallen. "There you are. Axelrod and Blackwell finally deliver."

  Their chase was at an end, and now they would find out if all the trials they’d been through were worth it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wherein the Thunder from Down under and the Eccentric Canuck Get Out to the Country

  "You sure about this, mate?" Bruce asked, lowering the Starlights from his eyes.

  "Sophia’s note said Badger spends a lot of his time here," Brandon replied with a shrug. "It’s a remote farm on the outskirts of Rome, but how this all ties into this Usher project I don’t know."

  Bruce cast a glance over to Harker. He squirmed around in the new dark suit they’d got him. His new attire did not thrill him, but it wasn’t like they had much of a choice in clothing for him. His wardrobe’s colour palette leaned heavily towards the extremely bright, and while he had four linen suit in the height of Italian fashion, they were not practical for spies engaged in covert operations.

  Ignoring the twitch in his jaw, Bruce growled, "If I told you one more time how smart you looked in the new suit, would that help you stop fidgeting?"

  Harker looked at him with a sour expression. "I assure you gentlemen, I will not be a hindrance to you in this crucial time."

  "Famous last words," Brandon grumbled.

  "I am a quick study, I will keep my distance as you two approach the farm. I will not interfere. I will not, in any way, attempt to insert myself into your business." Harker took a deep breath, and Bruce swore he saw the pale Italian moonlight catch tears welling up in the man’s eyes. "I want to make certain one of the first things my sweet Virginia sees is my face. I just wish I was better dressed for it."

  Here we go, Bruce thought.

  Brandon held up a single finger in front of Harker. "The moment you put any of us in peril, I will subdue you, put you in a wardrobe, and collect you like luggage later. Ya’ follow?"

  With a crooked eyebrow, Bruce glanced at his partner. He relied on Brandon to be the more level-headed of the two of them, now, there was the distinct taste of tension in his words.

  "Stick to the plan, Harker. Maybe that little del Morte crow has been good to us so far." Turning to the farm, he brought the Starlights back up to his eyes. "But that doesn’t guarantee anything."

  Brandon nudged him in the shoulder. "Now, now, Bruce, are you still having problems trusting our girl, Sophia?"

  Did he really say that? "A little something about ‘Our girl Sophia’ you need to remember—she’s an assassin. Ministry agents are singing with the angels on account of her. She helped Books and Braun once. Doesn’t make her a friend."

  "Just saying," Brandon said with a shrug. "Sophia has no reason to trust us either. What does she have to gain in helping us?"

  "A question for the ages," B
ruce mumbled, scanning the farm from one end to the other.

  They had only been in Rome for a day when the latest message from Sophia arrived to their hotel. She’d mentioned how Badger had made contact with the House, meaning they were aware of his presence in Rome. Sophia also mentioned Italian operations for Ragnarök had been established outside the city, in this quaint little corner of the countryside. The odd part about Sophia’s letter was how imperative she made Badger’s contribution to the House. It was as if Badger believed he alone was Ragnarök.

  At first appearances, the farm was nothing out of the ordinary. The buildings on the property were one storey, simple rural buildings. Instead of one larger barn towering over lower-lying structures, this farm had three. Unique, but not unusual. What was unusual, however, were the moonlight towers still blazing at one o’clock in the morning. In his experience, cows did not need reading lights.

  Another strange detail were the farmhands that walked the perimeter. They should all be doing whatever farmhands did of an evening. The Starlights couldn’t offer any more details about them on account of interference from the towers, but from the way they moved, Bruce was certain: these were armed farmhands. If he knew anything about the House, and he certainly did, their weapons were most likely some kind of modified shotguns. If he was wrong, and they were rifles, hopefully they weren’t as a crack shot as that intriguing Russian sharpshooter, Ryfka.

  The whisper was far too close to his ear. It was not Brandon. "So, Mr Campbell, when are we off?"

  The agent turned his head to Harker. Any closer, and the two of them would be kissing. "Step back, you tosser, I didn’t need a bloody reminder that you stuffed yourself with garlic ravioli." Whatever spasm overtook Harker—Bruce couldn’t be sure if it was a nod, a shrug, or something in between—he backed off. "Guards are still making the rounds, and they’re keeping to the intervals rather regularly. Like in Russia. These houseboys are a whole new breed. Liked it better when they were a little lax, but those salad days are over, I guess."

  Brandon brought the Starlights back up to his eyes, and Bruce did the same. "What about there? Westward quadrant. Watch."

  Through the specs, Bruce observed two ghostly figures approach one another. They exchanged a nod and walked past one another. Feet became yards and then hundreds of yards. They reached opposite corners of the barn before stopping, turning, and pausing at the end of their walk. They stayed like that for another fifteen minutes before repeating the movement.

  "That window of opportunity is tight, if we take them out, we would be on the clock. They might overlook one guard missing. Call of nature, or some such. When two guards go missing from the same perimeter that’s gonna get us unwanted attention."

  Brandon cleared his throat. "This is the part of the plan you are not going to like."

  "What do you—" The words caught in Bruce's throat, and the Starlights came down so quick, he worried he might’ve shattered one of its lenses. "You can’t be serious, Brandon!"

  Brandon shrugged. "I’m open to alternatives. Presently, I am not seeing any other."

  Bruce looked over at Harker. "Tell me that when you attended University, you participated on the athletics team."

  "Wasn’t much for sport, a spot of tennis here and there."

  The twitch in Bruce’s jaw returned.

  Harker’s brow furrowed. "What's the problem, gentlemen?"

  "See the two guards standing on the west side, closest to the barn," Bruce said, handing Harker his Starlights. "They pass one another, we are going to have to sprint from a hiding place to the door."

  After a moment, Harker passed the Starlights back to Bruce. "I do not see what the trouble is."

  Brandon was now scanning the perimeter for some way to get a little closer. "Awful lot of ground to cover. We could belly crawl for a bit before running."

  "Lesser of two evils, mate, we will have to manage. So here’s how this is going to play: Brandon and I are going to run to that barn, get the door open, and then you are going to run like the devil himself is chasing you. Don’t look at the guards, don't look behind you, just run."

  Harker swallowed hard, but Bruce saw it in his eyes. He understood this was life and death.

  Bruce slipped the Starlights into his haversack and shouldered it. "Time to stop talking about this, let’s go."

  The three men stuck close to the tree line, pushing on to reach the closest point of the forest to the barns. Bruce motioned for Harker to lie low, as he and Brandon, their bellies pressing into the grass, began a slow belly crawl across the wide, open field. The doorway the two men passed, Bruce hoped, wasn’t secured in any way. If it were, Harker would have to get back to the hotel, and report the farm’s location to the Ministry. That would be expecting a lot, he knew.

  Maybe it was the excitement and tension of the moment that made every slide, every slip against the grass, sound as if it was a John Philip Sousa March. Now they were close enough to see in the moonlight the grain of wood within the barn wall. They watched the two guards close in and pause.

  Why they stopping? Bruce’s hand slipped into his coat, and he pulled out a modified barker. Do they see us?

  They weren’t close enough catch any words, but it was clear they were having a conversation. A small flame flashed between them, and cigarette smoke surround one of the guard’s head.

  Bruce shared a look with Brandon. Was it time to improvise a Plan B?

  Brandon motioned with his head to the guards. The second guard was smoking as well, and after a few more words, they nodded to one another before resuming their walk along the barn perimeter. Bruce counted the steps. They needed a little more distance. A few more steps, Bruce thought. Just a few more...

  Bruce pushed off the ground, got to his feet, and made his way for the door, Brandon pounding alongside him. When they reached the barn and glanced back, to see the guards still walking in opposite directions. They had made it. Now came another test. Bruce held his breath and pressed against the latch trigger. The bolt lifted free from its hinge, and the door swung open without effort, save for a soft, tiny squeak. Both men slipped into the barn. Now, time to pray for Harker’s ability to mimic Mercury himself.

  The Australian nearly yelped when Harker appeared only a few steps away from them. Bruce thought he might have pulled a muscle in his neck from swallowing his small, short scream. Brandon tugged at his partner’s coat, and Bruce grabbed a handful Parker’s jacket before everyone ended up yanked into the barn. As badly as he wanted slammed the door, Bruce had the wherewithal to ease it shut.

  Once secure, Bruce turned on Harker, whispering, "Exactly how long have you been behind us?"

  "I told you I was a quick study. I saw how you crawled on your belly across the field, so I figured it couldn’t be that hard. My cleaning bill will be ridiculously high, I know that. But I could have never made that distance, not even at my fastest."

  Brandon clapped Harker on the back. "Well done."

  “I have to admit, good job, mate.”

  Harker looked around the barn—at least what they could see of it—then back to where they came in. "I caught a glimpse of the door handle. It’s a rather rudimentary lock. Seems a bit odd."

  “Odd how?” Bruce asked.

  "There’s no handle on the inside, so the door secures from the outside. If you are trying to keep something hidden why not lock it from the inside? And with something for more complicated?"

  "What exactly are you on about?"

  "What I’m on about is that this locks from the outside. Whoever is behind all this, these doors are designed to keep something in."

  Bruce and Brandon both shared a glance. Maybe they were rubbing off on their unwelcome guest?

  Bruce peered ahead into the barn's darkness. "No standing on ceremony. Let’s locate Virginia, find out what we can about Ragnarök, and get back Jolly Ol’ England tout de suite."

  As agreed upon, Bruce and Brandon took a full five-step lead on Harker. The deeper the three of t
hem pushed forward the barn, the more they discovered its unconventional layout. While the outside suggested spaciousness and the reek of hay and cow shit, this barn had none of that. Instead it had been segmented into small rooms, able to contain two or three people at a time. A strange antiseptic smell hung in the air and grew stronger as they crept forward.

  "Are you certain we can’t stay in Rome a day or two?" whispered Brandon. "Just so that Sophia knows we appreciate what she’s done for us?"

  Bruce froze in mid-step, before rounding on his partner. "You’re dreamin’, mate. Tell me your dreamin’, or tell me that I am asleep and having a bloody nightmare right now."

  Brandon was about to say something, something Bruce knew would make him upset, but Harker had come up to them, gesticulating forward.

  Ahead of them was a long row of taut, thin linens, suspended high enough to give whatever was happening behind them a modicum of privacy. Still, with the cloth shields up, these areas were lit in such a fashion that shadows moved along them like a Far Eastern puppet show. The tall shadows were three doctors who surrounded someone prone on a bed. These doctors milled and fussed about their patient, checking bottles suspended over their head, recording what they saw on clipboards, and conversing in hushed tones between one another. It wasn’t until one shadow in the centre stepped aside that they realised the figure in the bed was pregnant, the woman’s belly so swollen that she looked fit to burst.

  Harker's eyes bulged, but he didn't make a noise. Bruce motioned with his head to a nearby room. The three of them shuffled into the closet and closed the door quietly behind them. Brandon was already looking around, as something overhead grabbed his attention, while Harker steadied himself against the wall.

  It was their guest who broken the silence. "Why are these cads examining a pregnant woman in the middle of a farm in the middle of nowhere? What sort of place is this?"

  "Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences," Bruce stated. "It’s all in the name, mate."

  From one side of the room, Brandon let out a delighted "Yes..." as he started to dig into one of the storage shelves. "I was hoping that Australian luck of yours would come through." His partner tossed him what looked like a physician’s clothes. He glanced at Harker. "I think you should hunker down here? You would be safer hiding than wandering with us into a dangerous situation."