Hooded Man

by Paul Kane

  So here he was, alone and cut off from the outside world: a spy in the Dragon’s den. He needed to get to a radio – the Dragon must be keeping in touch with his units that way, same as they did – but he didn’t have all that much to report at the moment. Just his observations about how powerful this Welshman was becoming, how the rest of this country would never shift him if they didn’t act soon.

  He’d never felt so unsure about what to do in all his life. When he was younger, he’d always been focused on the music, always known he wanted to be a musician. Surviving after the Cull, on the streets, he’d been confident that he’d get by, travelling with his guitar and fending off anyone who fancied their chances. But right now he just didn’t know which way to turn.

  It wasn’t even so much that he was on his own here, because he’d always felt that way deep down, like he shouldn’t really get too close to anyone. That was probably why he could never really connect with the opposite sex. Even after he’d found Robert and his Rangers, joined them, been accepted into their clan, Dale still saw himself as being something apart from that too. A maverick. No, his anxiety rose from being out of his depth; he wasn’t used to all this masquerading. Dale preferred to be upfront, to fight his enemy face to face, not pretend to be something he wasn’t in order to find out a potential weakness.

  But it’s not the first time you’ve pretended to be something you’re not, is it? He’d done that all the time with the women he’d dated – if you could call one night stands dating. Pretended he’d call them, that things might go further, just to get them into the sack. This is different, and besides, I’ve changed. Or at least he wanted to change, but hadn’t quite got it yet.

  All this was just to stop him thinking about what to do next. And a distraction so he wouldn’t think about –

  A radio; he should at the very least check in with Jack, let the man know he was still alive. If Dale knew Jack, he’d be monitoring the frequencies for a call. That man knew the airwaves like the back of his hand, having had an interest in radio since he was a kid – the only way he could keep in touch with anyone, cut off in upstate New York.

  Cut off, just like Dale was now.

  When he was sure he could slip out without being noticed, Dale grabbed a tray and exited the kitchens in the stadium, praying that another big order wouldn’t come in from the Dragon while he was searching. He made his way up one corridor and down another, almost bumping into the man himself, being wheeled along towards a set of double doors.

  Dale hung back, but followed for a little while, trailing the Dragon to a set of lifts – actual working lifts! – where he descended with his personal guards. Maybe that was where he took the women from his –

  You weren’t going to think about that, remember? Well, at least if he was heading there, he wouldn’t be asking for food again in a hurry. Dale swore under his breath, thinking what the cost might be for buying him some time. It was too high a price. Much too high.

  He got on with his task of looking for a radio. It wasn’t easy; he couldn’t just stop and ask one of the Dragon’s men where it was. Bit of a giveaway for a budding secret agent. On the plus side, only certain key locations inside were lit with proper electric lights; obviously the work of whoever had rigged up the PA system and lifts. If he just carried the tray around with him, none of the guards said a thing, simply assuming he was on his way back from delivering the Dragon’s latest meal, or fetching and carrying for the rest of the troops. Dale had the run of the place. Now all he had to do was –

  There!

  One of the Dragon’s men was coming out of a well lit room, the door swinging open a crack behind him. Dale spotted a radio on the table inside. There was another guy still in the room, speaking into the mouthpiece. Dale looked left and right. If he took out the operator, it was sure to be discovered eventually, and before Dale was ready to get out of this place. Maybe he should just wait for the bloke to leave. But what if he never did? What if the other one came back, and he had to wait for both of them to vacate the room? Dale was conscious that he’d been absent from the kitchens for a while. People would begin to notice soon, if they hadn’t already. He had to do something, or just give up on contacting Jack altogether.

  The man inside yawned, stretched and looked as though he was about to get up. Dale smiled. He was in luck, the bloke was about to follow his comrade. But no, instead he rested his head on the table. He was having a fucking nap! There was no way Dale would be able to use the radio with him in there kipping.

  Dale had crept further towards the door to watch. It was only now, when a hand came down on his shoulder, that he realised he’d given himself away. A good spy should never be caught snooping in doorways.

  He started, almost bringing the tray round and smacking the person in the face – assuming it was the second guard coming back. But Dale held himself in check, as well as holding his breath. It was a good job; when he turned, he saw a face he recognised.

  “You’re going to get caught sneaking about like that,” whispered the girl with the milky skin and blonde hair. The girl he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind since the Dragon took her away. Dale’s had never been lost for words in his life, but he was now. “Caught, or killed,” the girl said, her voice betrayed a faint Welsh accent, like she’d been born in this country but had lived further east for a while.

  He stepped back, taking her in. She was still dressed in a flimsy outfit; the baby doll replaced by a chemise. Dale suddenly found his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “Not getting caught,” she replied, and he realised that his first assessment of her had been spot on. Back in that VIP box he’d noticed her obvious compassion for those murdered Rangers, but also an inner strength he really admired. It reminded him a little of Sophie, of Mary. “I hope, anyway.” The girl pulled him to one side so they couldn’t be seen from inside the room.

  “Caught doing what?” Dale’s curiosity about her had overcome any surprise or awkwardness; now he just wanted to know what she was up to.

  “The same as you, I’m guessing. Something we shouldn’t be.”

  She had him there. He definitely shouldn’t be sending a radio message out or thinking about whacking one of the Dragon’s men to do it. “Okay... Look, just who are you?”

  “My name’s Sian.”

  “Dale.”

  “All right, then, Dale, you obviously want to get into that room to use the radio. But you can’t with that big lug snoring over there. I want information. We can help each other.” Sian skirted around him and made for the door.

  Dale grabbed her by the arm. “What are you doing? You can’t!”

  “Out of the two of us, I reckon I’m the one that can,” she said, removing his hand from her arm. She smiled. “Don’t worry, I came prepared.” She raised her other hand, holding most of a bottle of whiskey. “Loosens the tongue.”

  Suddenly Sian was gone, walking into the room and rousing the Dragon’s man. He heard the guy ask gruffly what she was doing there, but he didn’t catch her reply. The rest of what they were saying was muffled. Although he couldn’t see from this angle, Dale figured the guy would be looking at her, his eyes trailing over her body just as the Dragon’s had. Just as his own had.

  Not the same, not the same thing at all!

  Dale held back as long as he could, but when he heard laughter he edged closer to the door. Sian was explaining to the man that she’d been sent here with a little present for his hard work, that the Dragon had said to enjoy it. Dale wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the booze or her; the thought made him want to retch. He heard gulping as the man drank and felt grateful he couldn’t see what else he was up to. Dale waited as the man drank more, and more. It was only when he heard him telling Sian what he’d like to do to her, his voice slurring badly, that Dale couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

  The next thing he knew, he was inside the room and had brought the tray he was holding down on the back of the man’s head. The ope
rator slumped forward.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sian snapped.

  “Giving him a hangover he won’t forget in a hurry.”

  “And what if he remembers? What if –”

  “Look, he was about to, you know, try it on.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. This was the woman who’d been dragged off by the Dragon, had done Christ knows what with him, and he was worried about a drunk radio guy getting a bit fresh.

  “He was in no condition to try anything on! God, if you’ve screwed things up for me –”

  “Screwed things up... what are you talking about?”

  Sian let out a weary sigh. “I came in here looking for my Aunt Meghan. We’ve been together ever since... well, you know. The Dragon’s men took her a few weeks ago. She hid me away safe when they found us, I think she thought she could talk her way out of it. But they took her, Dale. They took her. So I let myself get captured.”

  “Jesus. I’m really sorry.” If anything, that made what Sian had gone through all the more upsetting. “Did you get anything from him?”

  Sian shook her head.

  “Listen, I’ll help you look for her. But first, I really need to send a message out on that radio before his mate comes back.”

  “Won’t be back anytime soon. This one made it very clear we’d be alone for a good while. They just got a message through saying some big foreign guy the Dragon’s supposed to be meeting is almost here. His mate’s gone off to look after him personally, give him a tour until the Dragon is ready to meet up.”

  “What big foreign guy?”

  “Funny sounding name: Tunic or something.”

  Dale placed his hands on her arms. “Tanek? Was that the name?”

  “Might have been.”

  “Be certain, Sian. This is important!”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I think so.

  “Shit!”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  Dale ignored her, flipping switches and attempting to dial up a signal. “Please be out there, Jack,” he said.

  Now he really did have something to report, but he wished with all his heart he didn’t.

  HE REALLY WISHED he’d never sent the kid in there.

  Jack ground his teeth as he sat in what was left of the Welsh Ranger headquarters. He and his squad had arrived too late to do anything to help the troops stationed there, and as Jack had looked over the devastation – the bodies of Rangers, men and women alike – his guts tied themselves in knots. It was these people who’d alerted them to the problem in the first place, but they hadn’t described anything on this scale. Another wannabe dictator, maybe, who was still building up his forces, but with nowhere near the capability to do something like this. These were trained fighters, damned well trained. He’d trained some of them himself back at Nottingham Castle.

  Now they were dead.

  Jack had felt his hands tightening around the staff he always carried as he took in the blood, the glassy eyes, the expressionless faces.

  “Sir!” one of his squad had alerted him to the approach of a vehicle. A jeep, travelling at speed on the horizon. He didn’t need to order his Rangers to hunker down and find cover. If this was a clean-up crew of the Dragon’s men, coming to pick off any survivors they’d missed, then they’d chosen the wrong day.

  As the jeep came closer, however, it was clear that they had other intentions. The vehicle skidded, doing a handbrake turn as it reached the former HQ. Then two men threw a bundle out of the back... a living bundle, though it was a poor excuse for a human being. In fact the body they tossed out looked in worse shape than some of the corpses surrounding Jack. But from the hood and dark green garb, it was another one of his Rangers. Where he’d been and what had happened to him, Jack had no idea, but he was guessing it hadn’t been pleasant.

  As the jeep began to drive off again, Jack broke cover and ordered the others to see to their fallen comrade. He had a score to settle.

  He began to run. Although he wasn’t as young as he had been when he’d done the circuits as a professional wrestler, he’d kept himself in good shape with exercise and training. Not to mention actual combat. In the last couple of years, he’d been in more scrapes than he ever had in the ring, been in more danger than he had been against Big Bud McCardle or The Terror from Tallahassee. There still wasn’t an ounce of fat on Jack ‘The Hammer’ Finlayson’s frame, and it meant that before too long he was catching up with that accelerating jeep. He had also attracted the attention of those in the back. Those within reach of a pretty lethal-looking mounted machine-gun.

  He saw one of the men pointing, then the other pulling the weapon around and firing. Jack dodged sideways, only just avoiding the bullets raking the road.

  The gunman aimed, but again fired wide – Jack leaping just in time. He bent and ran even faster at the vehicle, his baseball cap flying off, pressing on until he was almost level with the jeep. Before either the gunman or his partner could react, Jack was using his staff to pole-vault into the back. He lost his grip on the stick, but didn’t need it now. When the man closest tried to draw his pistol, Jack clipped it out of his hands and grabbed hold of him by the collar.

  “Let’s see how you like it, pal!” he roared, picking the man up and heaving him from the vehicle. There was an audible crack as one of his legs broke, and he tumbled head over heels. The other man yelped and scrabbled to get away, but a huge hand on his shoulder stopped him, twisting him around so that Jack could take hold of his head with both hands, and then bring it down onto his raised knee. The man toppled backwards, over the side. He must have fallen under the wheels, though, because the whole vehicle rose up in the air momentarily; when Jack looked behind him, he saw the man’s body flattened against the road.

  Jack clambered around on the outside of the jeep as it continued to speed up, the lone driver perhaps thinking – bizarrely – that he could escape that way. Jack reached in through the open window and grabbed at the wheel, pulling pulling them off the road and towards a house. The driver attempted to wrestle the wheel back, but there was only one wrestler present. When Jack was satisfied they were on a collision course, he let go and jumped free.

  Unlike the two men from the back of the jeep, Jack did know how to fall. As he rolled to a halt, he watched with satisfaction as the jeep rammed headlong into the house, pitching the driver through its windscreen.

  “You have just been Jack-Hammered,” he uttered in a low tone, but there was none of the usual glibness. This had been revenge, pure and simple, for the Rangers killed back at the base, and for the one they’d dumped by the roadside. Jack only hoped he got a chance to explain how he felt to their boss.

  He picked himself up and began his walk back along the road, retrieving his staff and his cap along the way. The man who’d been run over was dead; the other was alive, but badly injured. Jack quizzed him about what had happened at the HQ, and back at the stadium, standing on the damaged leg whenever the man refused to answer. Robert probably wouldn’t have approved, but their leader wasn’t here. Hadn’t seen what these men had done. The injured man told Jack how the Rangers they’d captured had died. “You sick sons of bitches,” Jack said. Then he thought about Dale. “Have you seen a young guy back at the stadium? About yay high, good looking? You know if he’s still alive?” The man shook his head. “Okay,” said Jack, and began walking off.

  “Wait, you can’t just leave me here,” screamed the soldier.

  “Our man comes first. Then maybe I’ll send someone back for you.” Or maybe he would just clean forget. Things slip your mind sometimes, Jack said to himself. For now, all he wanted to know was how the fallen Ranger was doing, and if Dale was all right.

  His squad were attempting to patch up their colleague, who Jack could now see was suffering from a bullet wound to the leg. “He’ll be lucky if it doesn’t get infected,” a Ranger called Chadwick told him, out of earshot of the patient, “even with antibiotics. And he’ll never be able to walk pr
operly again.”

  All the battles, all the fights he’d been in; nothing compared to this. Slaughtering his Rangers in their home, promising freedom then blowing them up, leaving just one alive but crippled for life. And he’d sent Dale into that maniac’s domain. Sure, the kid could handle himself, but Jack still felt as though he’d signed his death warrant. This wasn’t the movies. Bad things happened to good people and there were never any guarantees of a happy ending.

  So in the time since then he’d sat by the radio. Waiting for a sign that Dale was still alive, that he hadn’t simply been shot in the head for the Dragon’s amusement. Once or twice he’d heard a crackle of static, but it had only been ghosts whispering down the line.

  Then Dale’s voice actually came down the line. “Green Three Leader, come in. Green Three, are you out there? Please respond. Jack, answer the radio, will you? Over.”

  Jack picked up the receiver and spoke. “This is Green Three Leader. Dale, is that you, little buddy? Over.”

  There was another crackle of static, then: “Well it’s not bloody Bono, is it? Over.” Jack smiled, but could hear the panic in Dale’s voice.

  “Are you okay? Over.”

  “Yeah – for now. But I don’t have much time. Listen, there’s been a development. The Dragon’s working with a guy you might have heard of. Big fella, olive skinned. Likes crossbows. Over.”

  Jack couldn’t believe his ears. “Tanek?” The last time Jack had seen that man, it had been as his torture victim, while De Falaise’s daughter, Adele, cheered him on. Robert said that he’d escaped after they’d taken down the Tsar in Sherwood, but nobody had seen or heard about him since. Like that proverbial bad penny, he just always seemed to show up – especially when there was something big going down. But what was his connection to the Welsh Dragon? Whatever it turned out to be, this wasn’t good news at all. “Do you know what he’s doing there, Dale? Over.”