“By all means.”
“I’ll give you the nerd, Spencer. He’s seen what I’ve seen and knows what I know. Juliani won’t bother you. He’s a fucking criminal. But Spencer – that’s a kid you need out of the picture. Not least because he’s a totally believable witness.”
“Spencer? Is that all?”
“Spencer in return for my freedom. Remember, I haven’t spoken against you in two years, I’ve kept a low profile. You can trust me because I’ve already proven myself. I give you Spencer. You can interrogate him and then throw him away.”
She didn’t look behind her at the man in question, sitting on the bed and eating yoghurt. She knew his stomach would be in knots.
“Make the deal,” she said. “Let me deliver him and I’ll fade away.”
“I can do that,” the man spoke too quickly, too eagerly. She’d known from the beginning that he’d attempt a double cross. But by offering both Spencer and herself at the delivery point, she was throwing everything on the table. Maybe he would suspect. Maybe he was too arrogant to suspect. Either way, she was confident in her abilities to succeed.
“Meet me tonight, eleven-o-clock, at these coordinates. Don’t be late. Oh, and no tricks, Rogue. Don’t forget where you were trained.”
Their time was almost up. Rogue couldn’t resist one last barb. “It’s due to that training that all your friends are dead.”
And she hung up.
“It worked.”
Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. Juliani turned away from the window. “When?”
“Tonight. Let’s plan.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Spencer’s way of dealing with Rogue’s dangerous plan was to pretend it wasn’t really happening. That proved difficult however with both Rogue and Juliani present. They wanted to go over it again and again, look for improvement, different ways to thwart the old man upon the inevitable double-cross. Juliani was a tough character, Spencer thought. A brusque façade and quick to anger with most, but patient and thoughtful with Rogue. Once he came up with something he didn’t let go.
According to Google Maps the coordinates would lead them to a small, fenced-off mews in the heart of the city. A secret garden, if you like. The Spencer of a few days ago might have fancied seeing that, might even have related it to several nineties movies he enjoyed, but the new Spencer saw obstruction and danger in the fencing and only death at the sight of a padlocked gate.
“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” he said aloud before he could stop himself.
Juliani gave him a glare, but Rogue walked over to him. Spencer looked up at her from the edge of the bed.
“You’re braver than you think,” she said. “And I need you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, to get close to the big bad wolf.”
“Oh.” Spencer felt deflated.
Rogue laughed. “Seriously? You’re valuable to me. You have computer skills. Bravery. And your insight. Even the nerdy stuff. It brings a different perspective to everything I see.”
He looked up, wondering if she was serious. To date, Rogue came across as a loner, happy and confident in trusting just one person on this planet. She was as a one-woman army.
“You really need me?”
“Well, I do now. The old man’s expecting to see you.”
Ah, that was more like it.
“At work,” he said. “They leave me alone and let me live my own life. You don’t. There’s no comfort zone.”
“You live your whole life in a comfort zone. I live mine in the danger zone. Cholesterol is your worst enemy. Mine is a sniper at 1500 yards. But in one significant way, we’re the same you and I.”
Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “How?”
“We’re loners forced to join the human fucking race and deal with all its shit.”
“I found my niche.” He said.
“You found a hiding place,” she said. “Even with Wildey. And hiding is gonna kill everything you could be. Now, get over here and get on board.”
She dragged him up from the bed. Spencer stared at the map, at the laptop and out the hotel window. Finally, he looked over at her.
“You think you could teach me a few fighting moves?”
She laughed and punched his shoulder. “You’d find me a dangerous instructor.”
“I’m serious.”
Again she smiled, but finally grew serious after he gave her his hardest stare.
“Look, geek,” she said. “If we tussled, even playfully, you’d be walking bow-legged for a week. You’re soft. You’d bruise. Badly. Stick with saving the day.”
Spencer couldn’t hide a grin, though he still harboured the need to learn from her. She was seriously badass, the kind of woman he’d only ever seen in video games and movies. They didn’t exist in real life.
Did they?
He decided to stop being so naïve. An ordinary civilian had no idea what went on in the real world. They were shielded every day by fake news and dumb news, by reality shows and sensationalism. They saw only what the money men wanted them to.
Spencer had always known this. He wondered what hair-raising stories she might be able to tell him.
Stop skirting the issue.
A confrontation was long overdue. Wildey had to be aware they were struggling, and part of growing and living together was making mistakes. Part of living was standing up to those big confrontations.
And that was the crux of it. Before he met Rogue, he’d never imagined forcing a confrontation let alone saving someone’s life. Rogue not only made him stronger, but a take-charge person. As soon as he got home, he knew how Wildey would greet him. Well, she sure as hell didn’t know how he’d stand up for himself. He was enjoying the camaraderie between Rogue, Juliani and himself. He was socially awkward and that wasn’t going to change, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be social.
His feelings for Rogue were complex, tainted by fear and a tension that made his stomach churn. She was in control, lethal, and shrewd. But she also wore those jeans and had that stunning shade of hair and those incredible, wide eyes. She was a conundrum. He wanted to become lost in her.
Spencer caught himself before he could go any further. It wasn’t right. He respected her utterly. It was time to focus on the job at hand.
She was staring at him. “You gonna join us now?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready to lay my life on the line. Just go over it one more time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
An elusive shadow with deadly intent slipped through the night. Rogue scouted the gardens at ground level as soon as it grew dark and then returned to the restaurant where they’d decided to pass the time.
“Nothing the internet hasn’t already shown us,” she said. “Even the third-floor windows of surrounding houses can’t see into the garden due to tree cover. Vegetation is thick enough for concealment. I made several cuts in the fence, so we have easy egress all round. If they have a sniper there are dozens of parked cars’ we can use to cover our escape. Lots of roads leading in and out. It could be worse.”
“Trying to make me feel safe?” Spencer said, eyeing her go-bag where all the weapons were kept. “I’d feel safer with one of those.”
“A rucksack?” Juliani grinned. “Is that to put over your head?”
Rogue sat back, relaxing. It was important to let all the toxins out now. The stress. The hatred. The guilt and the sorrow. A clear head and prime body were all that would keep them alive through this.
An ID on him is enough, she thought. That’s all we need. If she could ID this bastard and get away safely she could take him out later.
“It’s time,” she said confidently.
Spencer led the way directly to the mews. The evening was surprisingly clear, not a cloud in the sky. It remained cold. Rogue could see Spencer’s breath pluming before his mouth as he walked. Without thinking she grabbed his hand.
“What?” he jumped in surprise and turned. “That
’s offputting.”
“I don’t know what that means, geek, but I’m just passing you a gun.”
Spencer clammed up, but took the Glock and forced it into his pocket. Rogue had already explained how to use it. “Shoot if you have to,” she said. “Not if you don’t or aren’t sure. Oh, and don’t shoot me.”
Spencer nodded. They slowed. The garden was surrounded by a grey metal fence with a single gate. Ahead, that gate stood slightly ajar.
“He’s here,” Spencer whispered.
Rogue scanned the higher windows and roofs, hoping to catch an early glimpse of danger, but nothing presented itself. If somebody was up there, they were staying out of sight. She approached the gate.
“Be ready for anything.”
This was everything she’d been working towards. The identity of the final Old Man. The murderer, the fraud, and leader of the British branch of the Hellfire Club. Beyond the gate they followed a path surrounded by trees and underbrush until they came to a perfectly square lawn. It was uncluttered. On a path around it sat six wooden benches.
Figures were standing directly across the other side of the lawn. She counted six, all wearing long, black, wool coats that could easily conceal weapons. Spencer breathed shallowly at her side. Rogue started across the open ground, knowing the old man would have his plans in place and be waiting in an optimal position.
Breath plumed in the air as everyone met. In this garden, in this part-walled mews inside the city, there was absolute silence. Not even the distant wail of sirens.
Rogue felt instant disappointment. “Was the mask really necessary?”
Five men faced her openly, faces grim. They were large and severe, operatives of MI6, all strangers. The sixth wore a mask – a Satanic guise fashioned in metal, sporting horns and slits for eyes. She could see the man’s mouth working underneath but nothing else.
“I find it has its uses.” His voice was deep and measured, confident.
“It’s your perfect likeness.”
The man waved his guards away so they could talk without being overheard. “Guns are trained on you,” he told her. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She didn’t doubt it. “Regular MI6 agents, I assume. Men who have no idea who I am and, more importantly who you really are.”
“I won’t be drawn into conversation,” the man said. “unless you consent to letting me search you,” the mask thrust forward in a hateful leer.
“Not a chance. But if I was working for someone wouldn’t you already know about it? Or are you Hellfire guys not as good as I thought?”
“Oh, we’re good. We’re careful too,” the mask turned to Spencer. “Is this the kid who saved you in Florida? Who shot a man at the pool? I must say, he’s caused almost as much damage as you.”
“Just luck. He’s a nobody.”
“Good. Then nobody will miss him. I came to make a trade.”
Rogue looked left and right. “And if I tell these men what you’ve done?”
“They work for the government. They work for me. They won’t believe you.”
She shook her head. “Really? You people sit in your ivory towers out of touch with your own country. London is the capital not the heart. You fix tax cuts for the rich whilst maintaining austerity. You think you’re safe?”
The Old Man visibly stiffened. “I’m safer than you are, Rogue.”
Hearing her name spoken by the loathsome mouth sent a shiver through her. She scanned the area once more, took in everyone’s position and state of readiness. She could get them out of here. The problem was, the plan had failed.
“You gonna stick to the deal?” she asked.
“Your freedom for the kid? I can do that.”
“I’d feel better talking to a face rather than a Devil.”
“You’re doing both.”
There was no inflection of humour in his voice, only flat rhetoric. He really believed what he said.
“This is the real Hellfire Club isn’t it,” she said. “The masks. The rituals and rites. You’re a bunch of fucking devil worshippers.”
“It’s far beyond your comprehension.”
“Still, I’d feel better talking to a face. Safer. Seeing that, it gives me some control. Leverage. It helps reassure me that once I’m gone, you won’t come looking.”
“You were always the best,” the old man said a bit wistfully. “I remember being in awe of you on several occasions. The speed. The artistry. The savagery. The close-up kill in Vienna. You took that guy out with a fucking Spork. A Spork. Who does that?”
“I was improvising.”
“I’ll say. And Belgrade? Those two gun-runners? You smashed their heads together, stuffed them in a car and sent it off the top of a building.”
Rogue wondered if he was stalling but couldn’t come up with a reason why. She realised he was actually praising her.
“Is this your way of asking me to come back?”
“God no, we’re past that now. I want you to know that, if you hadn’t chosen to run off into the cold, you’d have had a lifelong career with me.”
Once more, she was grateful for her decision. It was then that a phone started ringing. The masked man slipped a pure carbon phone out of his pocket with a curious gold swirl on the back and looked at the screen.
“I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”
He thumbed the answer button and turned away. Spencer was staring hard at him, a speculative look on his face. Rogue nudged him. “Don’t worry, we’re good.”
The old man finished and turned once more. “Now, where were we?”
He slipped the expensive looking carbon phone into a pocket.
“Was that an update on the treasurers?” Rogue asked, just to confirm she knew more than enough about his dealings.
“Hand the kid over.”
Rogue felt every muscle in her body coil into a tight spring.
“Come get him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Rogue took a chance. She leapt forward, reaching for the old man’s mask. Her fingers brushed the surface as he moved aside. The mask dislodged, but only a few inches, revealing a shaven chin and strong jawline. Anger flashed through her at the misfortune of it all, but then the five guards attacked, and she was impassive, a clear, calculating fighting machine.
They reached for weapons as they came. She’d known the long coats, whilst great at hiding guns, hindered movement, so leapt at them, giving them no time at all. Her SIG machine pistol was already in her hand and its sharp bark assured everyone who heard it that she was done with finesse.
Bullets tore through the first man as she kicked the second in the chest. This opened a clear line of sight to the third, whom she shot in the stomach. Men fell, and guns went flying. Behind, the old man was running for the open gate. Spencer was at his heels.
Crap that’s not the plan.
But she didn’t have time to shout at him. Two men were in her face. One was bringing a handgun out of his pocket, the other starting to aim. Rogue grabbed the lapels of the first and drew him to her, kneed him in the crotch and then pushed him at the other man. She leapt around his right side, aiming her gun and firing on auto. Bullets riddled the first man whose blood coated the second.
The supersonic whine of a bullet rang out.
Sniper!
She rolled, knowing it was already too late. The bullet had already missed. Then she saw the ground kick up at Spencer’s heals and knew the sniper’s job was to safeguard the old man.
“Goddamn it, nerd! Get back here. They’ll kill you!”
The distraction had given her opponents a respite from the explosion of violence, a chance to react. Only two of the Old Man’s guards remained. The one she’d kicked to the ground and the one coated in blood. She ran at the first, pushing him backwards until he struck a wooden bench and flipped right over the back. Then she turned, dropping and firing at the same time. A bullet whipped past her. Her own shot missed its mark. She followed her opponent over the
bench before he had time to draw a bead on her.
She landed on his chest with all her weight. He punched up at her face. She lashed down with an elbow and grabbed his wrist, forcing the gun away. A shot fired by the blood-coated man punched through the wooden slats in the back of the bench. Splinters struck at her face. She bludgeoned her opponent’s wrist against the ground, glad to see the fingers spread and the gun go flying. Then she rolled off her opponent as another bullet smashed through the bench where she’d been.
Spencer was vulnerable. Even now, in her predicament, she berated herself for not being closer to him. Yes, she’d do better alone, but she didn’t want to.
The SIG in her right hand was an issue. She was relying on its deadly power too much. She let it slip away, elbowed her prone opponent in the throat as he lay there gasping and jumped aside. The blood-coated man was at the bench now, adjusting his aim to her new position.
Her knife flew end over end, slamming into his chest. He fell, firing up at the sky. Her last opponent jumped up, fists raw and bloody, a snarl twisting his features. He came at her full on. Rogue side-stepped, dropped a shoulder and helped him on his way. Even she was shocked when he landed face down onto a low set of iron railings that made up the border of a mini flower garden. Without hesitation, she scooped up the SIG, grabbed her knife and ran at Spencer who was now motionless, staring at her.
“Go back,” he said. “Those trees are closer.”
The supersonic whine came again just as Rogue and Spencer leapt headlong into a group of trees. A bullet ripped through bark just above her skull. She hit the ground head first and rolled, moving deeper into the undergrowth. Spencer was crawling at her heels.
“Are you hit?” she cried.
“No, but that old devil got away.”
“Yeah,” she punched the ground in frustration. “I risked your life for nothing.”
“Did he reveal anything?”
“He’s too clever for that.”
They continued wriggling through the brush and between trunks. Rogue could hear sirens closing in. It was both a curse and a blessing. The sniper couldn’t hang around and neither could the old man, but Rogue and Spencer had a new problem.
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