Night Moves nf-3

by Tom Clancy

  Next to the parked lorry, Howard slipped his helmet on, and checked the LOSIR com. "Perimeter team, sound off, by the numbers."

  The Strike Team obediently replied. All ahead functions there.

  "Entry team, sound off."

  "This is E1, Cooper."

  "E2, Michaels.

  "E3, Fiorella."

  "E4, Fernandez."

  And he was E5. Five of them should be enough, if everybody did what they were supposed to do. He and Fernandez would work the heavy shots, and while Michaels and Fiorella weren't trained assault troopers, he'd seen them in action enough to know they had balls. The only unknown was Cooper, and if she was a field agent for MI-6, she ought to have at least some basic moves. It was hurried, it was slapdash, it was hung together with string and bubble gum, but it was what he had to work with, and it was about to be a go. They all wore the light SIPEsuit configuration, mostly just armor, corns, and the tactical comp to run the helmet. They all carried the simple but reliable H&K 9mm subguns and tactical pistols, save for Howard and his.357 revolver. And as soon as he'd brought that out, Julio had howled.

  "Why, Katie Mae, I must be going blind," he'd said. "My tired old eyes completely shot. What is that ugly lump on top of the colonel's antique good luck charm? Is that a dot scope? It can't be!"

  "Julio…

  "No, I must be on drugs, or maybe just out of my mind. The Colonel John Howard I know would never in a million years upgrade to hardware just because it was state-of-the-art and useful!" He started looking up at the rainy sky.

  "What are you looking for, Sergeant?"

  "I dunno, sir. Some sign or portent. A big meteor about to fall on us, a gathering of angels, a rain of fire, something to let us know the end is near."

  "Never let it be said that your commander is a total Luddite," Howard said. He smiled.

  Now, they were on their way. They would split into two groups a couple of miles from here, the perimeter team would hit the gate, and they would go over the fence. Howard took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  "All aboard," he said.

  Peel glanced at his watch. Almost nine. Still raining, but not as hard as it had been, to judge from the sound on the slate roof. Bascomb-Coombs hadn't come out of the study; he was hunched over his computer, wearing a headset and finger bands, deep in some VR scenario. Well, fine. He could die never knowing what had hit him for all Peel cared, and good riddance.

  Goswell had tottered off into the dining room for a late supper, and Peel had the sitting room to himself, working on his third scotch, a small one this time. He didn't want to drink too much. There was Ruzhyo to consider.

  He'd have to get started soon, but he was stalling. Had to be done, of course, but there was a certain reluctance to get to it. Another page turning in the book of his life, and a big one. Ah, well. That's how it went. Win some, lose some, but the important thing was to live to fight another day.

  He took another sip of his scotch.

  Thursday, April 14th

  Upper Cretaceous

  What will be Sussex, England

  The monster, which looked like a cross between Godzilla and a giant Spielbergian raptor, stomped out into the clearing that served as his toilet and let loose a bellow that shook fronds off the ferns. It was still pretty far away, a couple of hundred meters. Probably could cover that in maybe four or five seconds once he got moving good. One shot, maybe two.

  "There he is," Jay said redundantly.

  Saji looked up. "No shit."

  Jay swallowed dryly, put the laser sight crosshair onto the monster's chest. The cross bounced around a little, but finally the holographic image blinked red, indicating that he had a lock. He jerked the trigger — and had a moment of panic as he feared he'd pulled it too hard.

  The rocket streaked away, smacked into the monster's chest, and exploded.

  When the fire and smoke cleared, the monster was knocked down.

  "All right, Jay!" Saji yelled.

  The triumph was short-lived. As they watched, the monster rolled, used its tail as a prop, and got back to its feet. It looked around for the source of the attack.

  Ohhhh, shit!

  Saji was already shoving another rocket into the bazooka-style launcher before Jay could speak. She slapped him on the shoulder. "Loaded!"

  The rocket lanced into the beast again. Boom! Again, it knocked the thing asprawl.

  Then it climbed back to its feet again, and roared loudly enough to wake everything that had died since the beginning of time. It leaned forward, stuck its big tail straight out behind it, and spotted Jay and Saji. It looked like a giant hunting dog on point at a covey of quail.

  Man! At least it was having an effect. Thing was, they had one more rocket and then the party was over. They could bail from VR if it got too close, and they'd sure as hell have to do that. Given what the little tiger had done to Jay's brain, he had a feeling that if this beastie got its claws on them, VR image or not, they would be in real physical jeopardy. If they had to bail, the thing would win, and Jay did not want to let it do that. More than anything he had ever wanted in his life, he wanted to beat this thing. Not just beat it, but to kick its ass seven ways from Sunday, to stomp the crap out of it big time.

  But it didn't look good for the home team, no sir.

  "Reloaded!"

  Jay took a deep breath and readied his last shot.

  Sure enough, Bascomb-Coombs was still there in the study, waving his hands around, wiggling his fingers, and directing some unseen computer wizardry. Peel glanced up and down the hall. No one around. He slipped into the room. He pulled the small Cold Steel Culloden boot knife from the sheath on his belt. The knife was short, pointed like a stiletto, with a hard, rubbery handle that gripped well. He stepped up behind the computer scientist, reached out, caught his forehead with his left hand, then drove the knife into the base of his skull with his right. Bascomb-Coombs stiffened.

  The monster opened its toothy mouth, flashed fangs the length of a man's forearm, and screamed that terrible scream again. Then it froze in that position, jaws agape.

  "What is it doing?"

  Jay shook his head. "Hell if I know. But there's my target." He lined the crosshairs up on the thing's open gullet, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.

  Bascomb-Coombs jittered a few times, then collapsed, his suddenly dead weight more than Peel could hold up. He bent and pulled the knife out of the man's hindbrain, wiped it on the dead man's shirt, and put the blade back into the sheath.

  "Sorry, old man, but you mess with the bull and sometimes you get the horn."

  The knife was the way to go, all right. He didn't want to attract any attention. Once he was done in here, he would use his gun to do Ruzhyo. He didn't want to get too close to that one.

  Now, let's see. There was Goswell, the maid, the cook, and old Applewhite left inside, then Ruzhyo. Huard he could save until last, the boy would never have a clue. Then pop the safe — whose combination he'd had for months — take whatever cash and baubles were there, and a lively stroll through the rainy fields and away. A long and hard day, and it wasn't over yet, but there it was: You did what you had to do, and God save the king.

  He went down the hall toward the dining room to have a word with his lordship.

  This time, when the rocket exploded, so did the monster's head. Ersatz brain and bone and blood sleeted in all directions, some of it hitting Jay and Saji, but neither of them cared.

  "You got it! You got it!"

  "You seem awfully joyful for a Buddhist, under the circumstances."

  Saji hugged him. "What, for shutting down a computer program? That's all you really did, isn't it?"

  "All I did? Hey, this was no ordinary computer program, woman!" But he hugged her back. He had done it. He had redeemed himself. And it felt better than pretty damned good, it felt absolutely great.

  Jay Gridley was back!

  Chapter 40

  Thursday, April 14th

  The Yews, Su
ssex, England

  The entry team made it to within a few hundred meters of the house without any trouble. Michaels had expected to hear shooting from the perimeter team when it got to the gate, but either they were too far away, or things had gone better there than expected.

  In the headset, Howard said, "See anything, E4?"

  Fernandez was on point. "Negative, I — wait. There's one just passed under the light by the back door. Looks as if he is walking patrol."

  "Copy. Let's move in."

  Michaels waited until Howard passed him before he got up from the wet ground where he'd been prone and started moving in a low crouch. Stay low, move slow, that's what Howard had emphasized.

  Toni and Cooper followed him, and the tight feeling in his bowels was not altogether from his worry about being shot.

  Ruzhyo caught the movement in the field during a lull in the rain. It wasn't much, just a dark shape outlined against the distant outdoor light from a neighboring farm, but it was enough to gain his attention.

  A few seconds later, he caught another glimpse of something. Could be a lost sheep, maybe. A calf that had wandered away from its mother. But he didn't believe that. Dark shapes coming across the field in the rain? British assault team was more likely. And sooner than he — and Peel — had expected. Since he hadn't heard any gunfire, Ruzhyo had to assume they had gotten past the guards. Not a real surprise. Peel's men were good soldiers, but the estate was too big for them to cover properly.

  Ruzhyo moved deeper into the overhang's shadows, circled away from the house, and headed toward the building that Peel used for an office. He could use that for cover until he saw how many of them had come. Then, if he was lucky, he could still slip away. There could be a dozen or a hundred of them, and without knowing where the gaps were, it would be risky to try to run.

  Goswell wiped his lips as Peel came into the room, wearing a rather smug smile. Ah, well. Here we go.

  He had sent Applewhite upstairs with the maid and Cook and told them to lock themselves in the upstairs office and stay there until he personally told them to come out. The office door was steel, with a stout lock and a policeman's bar behind it, installed as part of a security room under Peel's aegis. Rather ironic, that.

  Now he could finish this unpleasant business. He put his napkin back into his lap and left his hands there with it.

  "Do have a seat, Major."

  "I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you, Geoffrey."

  Ceoffrey? Good God, Peel has gone round the bend. Somewhat flustered at the overly familiar tone, Goswell sought to collect himself. "Did you see Bascomb-Coombs, then?"

  "Ah, yes, that I did. I just left him in the study. Quite dead."

  "Dead, you say?"

  "Yes. A sudden attack of brain fever. Brought on by this." Peel pulled a wicked-looking little dagger from under his jacket and held it up. The bright steel glittered under the lamps of the electric chandelier.

  Goswell considered that. "Killed him, did you?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  "A pity. He was quite brilliant."

  "And he was also a psychotic willing to do your bidding and who also tried to have me killed." Peel turned the knife this way and that, looking at the steel almost as if hypnotized.

  "Did he? Well, apparently his assassins fared no better than mine, then."

  Peel frowned. "Yours?"

  "Yes, of course. I'm afraid perhaps you've made a mistake and poor Bascomb-Coombs has been made to suffer for it. It was I who had people trying to kill you, sir."

  "But — why?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

  "Really, Peel. For conspiring with that very same Bascomb-Coombs you have slain in my study. Did you think me such a fool that I wouldn't remember that someone must watch the watchers?"

  "Ah, so it was you having me followed. And that fellow in the bookstore."

  "I am sad that it was necessary. Your father would be most unhappy with you. I thought you were made of better stuff, Major."

  Peel laughed. "Well, I've got to hand it to you, Your Lordship, I never tumbled to it being your doing. I stand corrected. And it's not as if Bascomb-Coombs was some innocent who didn't deserve his fate. Though I must say, you are awfully calm for man who is about to have his throat cut. A gentleman to the end, eh?"

  "I should hope so. Although I confess that I don't expect that end to occur this evening."

  With that, Goswell brought his Rigby double up from his lap and pointed it right at Peel's heart.

  The old man was slow and half-blind, and there was a moment there if Peel had moved quickly that he could have gotten around the point-blank line of sight and stabbed Goswell. But such was his shock at seeing the gun come up, so unexpected was it, that he froze. By the time he recovered, Goswell had him covered. He might not be able to hit a rabbit hopping about in his garden fifty feet away, but at ten feet, he'd play hell missing a man-sized target. And a load of even birdshot would be fatal in the right spot.

  "Are you going to shoot me?"

  "I'd rather not get blood all over the dining room, but if you bat an eyelash crooked, certainly I will. Applewhite would hate the cleaning, but he is very discreet."

  "What, then?" "I was rather hoping we could step outside, you could have a final cigar and a brandy or whatnot, and we'd… part company there."

  He was serious. Goswell was going kill him. After cigars and brandy.

  Not while he had a knife in one hand and a pistol inches from the other hand, the old fool wasn't. He would distract him and bet on his younger reflexes. It was the only way.

  "Well, all right. If that's how it is to be. I think I'd like one of the Cubans and maybe a snifter of the Napoleon—"

  With that, Peel lunged.

  "All I see is the one," Fernandez said. "You want me to put a couple of rounds in him? Pick a spot and say when."

  Howard considered his options. The guard had a submachine gun slung and ready, and he might cut loose if he heard a twig snap. Subgun pistol ammo wouldn't pierce their SIPEsuit armor, but it would surely make enough noise to warn people in the house they had company. So would a flash-bang or puke lights. Howard had been expecting a firefight, and in that case, you did what you had to do to control the situation; but so far, with no shooting, it seemed possible they could pull this off without anybody getting blasted. He'd rather do it that way, considering how delicate the politics were. Michaels had gone out on a limb a few times for Howard, the least he could do was return the favor.

  "I'm moving up," Howard said. "I'll get his attention. While he's focused on me, you take him out. Nonlethally, if possible."

  "Copy nonlethal, E5."

  Howard crawled to within twenty yards of the house, then fifteen. The guard was turning and heading in his direction, and he had to attract and keep his attention long enough for Julio to get to him and choke him out.

  He needed a noise that would make the guard curious but not afraid. A cat's meow might do it. He did a pretty good imitation of a kitten looking for its mama. Even if the guard was some kind of pervert who liked stomping kittens, he'd have to see it before he did that. Should be enough time for Julio.

  "Meow. Mew. Mew. Mew!"

  Sure enough, the guard started heading his way.

  "Mew! Mew!"

  The man grinned. "Kitty! Here, kitty, kitty. Aw, you lost in the rain? C'mere, I'll dry you off."

  Good, he was a cat lover.

  It was going to work. And it might have, if somebody hadn't fired a shotgun inside the house just then.

  The guard spun toward the door, saw Julio coming at him at a dead run, and whipped his gun up.

  Well, shit, Howard thought. Then he opened up with his own subgun, a triplet into the guard's back. The guard wasn't wearing armor. He went down.

  "Go!" Howard yelled into his comset. "Back to Plan Able!"

  Peel looked at the bloody hole in his belly, felt the burn of the lead, and knew he was not going to recover from this gut shot. Thick smoke cloud
ed the lights, the burned-powder smell was awful, and from the floor, he wanted only one thing: to take fucking Goswell with him. He grabbed at his pistol, pulled it free—

  Goswell stepped closer and aimed the shotgun at Peel's face.

  "Sorry," Goswell said.

  The next explosion blew out Peel's lights forever.

  Howard rolled through the door and into the kitchen. He came up ready but, save for Julio, already on guard, they were alone. He pointed down the hall, and Julio nodded.

  They cleared rooms. When they got to the study, there was a body on the floor next to a portable computer. The dead man wore portable VR gear. They rolled him over and saw his face.

  "Bascomb-Coombs," Julio said. "Deader than last week's liberty."

  "Yes."

  Over the headset, Howard heard somebody outside suck in a harsh breath.

  When they got to the dining room, they found the second corpse, a messy one with half its face blasted away, and an old man sitting at the dining room table with an open double-barreled shotgun in front of him. White smoke hung like dense fog in the room.

  "You shooting black powder in that thing?" Julio asked.

  The old man was Lord Goswell. Howard recognized him from his pictures.

  "You don't look like any of the security boys I know. Americans, are you?"

  "Yeah, we're new," Julio said. "What happened here?"

  "Major Peel went mad, I think. He killed Bascomb-Coombs and came for me. I had to shoot him, I'm afraid. A terrible business."

  Peel and Bascomb-Coombs, both dead. Howard shook his head. "Jesus."

  Over his com, he heard Cooper echo that word. Or maybe it was Fiorella.

  Julio said, "Where is Ruzhyo?"

  The old man frowned. "Who? Oh, you mean the new Russian fellow Peel hired? I expect he's around somewhere. He was here earlier."

  "Stay here," Howard said. "We'll be back. Heads up out there people, Ruzhyo is still loose."

  They headed out. Michaels, Fiorella, and Cooper were covering the back, and Julio said into his com, "E4 and E5 are coming out the back door. Nobody shoot us."