by Paul Kane
Not going to happen.
“Well, go on, then,” encouraged the Widow, nodding towards Mary. “Yer know what must be done. I cannae do it for yer, Robert.”
Yes, he knew exactly what to do. Robert approached Mary, hoping to convey what his plan was. But she wouldn’t – couldn’t – look him in the eye. Come on, Mary, look at me.
“Kill her, Robert. Kill them both,” urged the Widow.
Robert paused. Mary raised her head.
“Both?” said Robert.
“Aye, her and the child. The last link. Yer rejected her, now do the same with the creature growing inside her.”
Robert’s mouth gaped and he stared at Mary; she stared back. Her hands went to her stomach, a look of astonishment on her face. What the hell was the Widow talking about? He could see Mary had no idea either. Something to gauge his reaction, to test whether he was still loyal? Or perhaps to make him rethink what he was planning to do next? But if it were true... If –
“Do it, man!” screamed the Widow.
Robert exchanged a look with Mary, all that was needed. “I’m sorry,” he said, approaching her with the blade held high.
“I know,” she told him.
“Now!” he cried, and twisted – flinging the dagger back towards the Widow. Mary brought up both her arms. The guards obviously hadn’t been expecting any more resistance after half-carrying the defeated woman from her cell, and were taken completely by surprise when she elbowed them both in the stomach. They crumpled up, but Mary didn’t wait to draw breath. Grabbing them both by the back of the neck, she knocked their heads together. Hard.
As the blade flew towards the Widow, Robert was also diving to attack one of the Widow’s men. The man’s reaction was slower than Robert’s and all it took was a blow across the windpipe to incapacitate him. Robert dragged the soldier around, using him as a human shield as the guard opposite opened fire. The first one took the bullets, his body jerking as they exploded into him. Robert glanced up to see what had happened with the knife.
The Widow had caught it and was turning it around.
“Mary, run!” he shouted, snatching the guard’s claymore and belt-knife before letting him drop. The knife he hurled at the soldier shooting in his direction, and this time it did find its mark.
The Widow was rushing forward, preventing any of her men from getting a clean shot at Robert. Mary looked left and right, back towards the door she’d been brought through, then at Robert. “Run!” he yelled again, but it was already too late. The Widow had almost reached her, dagger ready to do what Robert couldn’t.
He was about to hurl himself at the woman, when he remembered the other guards. He ducked in time to escape the machine-gun fire, rolling over and bringing his sword up into the first. Robert offloaded the impaled man onto the guard directly behind him, who was racing towards his companion. Wood splintered around Robert as the guards opposite trained their weapons on him.
Which also meant that the Widow had reached Mary.
Robert rolled again, rising and throwing his claymore at one of the guards like a javelin. He snatched another belt-knife from the closest felled guard and tossed it at another guard diagonally opposite. Ducking sideways, he grabbed one of the suits of armour, pulling it in front of him for protection against yet more machine-gun fire. Bullets sparked off the armour, dislodging the rifle it held, but did at least allow him to move back toward Mary, and the Widow.
To Robert’s dismay, the archways were indeed proving a menace, as more guards – attracted by the noise – came dashing in. Pretty soon the whole damned hall would be filled with reinforcements. He had to take out the Widow right now.
Robert ran at her, throwing the empty metal suit – the only weapon he had. As good as his aim was, the armour hit nothing, crashing across the floor and into the opposite wall. The Widow had already circled around behind Mary and was holding the dagger to her throat.
Weapons were being readied behind him, new soldiers swarming into the Hall. But Robert didn’t care. For one thing he was in the direct line of sight of the Widow – any stray bullet might hit her as well, which he knew they couldn’t risk – for another, he was more concerned about the golden blade pressed up against Mary’s neck, the edge already drawing blood.
“Wait, no!” he begged. “Stop! I’ll do anything you want. Just please, please don’t kill her.” There were tears in his eyes. The Widow looked at him and froze. Was there still some compassion in her? Something that recognised Mary was the one for him, not her?
“All right,” she told Robert. “And you’ll agree to anything if I let her live?”
He nodded.
“Robert, no!” said Mary.
“There is still a way we can be together. It wasnae what I wanted, though.” The Widow ordered her men to restrain Robert. He held up his hands willingly. He and Mary were marched out into the open, the light suddenly blinding. Out, up and round to the reservoir buildings, then in through a door. The Widow had been busy here, the place already set up for its new purpose, away from the prying eyes of her army. She allowed two men inside with her, then she bolted the door.
In front of them was a large funeral pyre. Some kind of pulley system had been rigged up, attached to the walls and ceiling. Robert and Mary exchanged worried glances as they cottoned on to what was going to happen.
With guns on both him and Mary, Robert had no choice. One way or another the Widow was finding a way for him to be her King, to make his strength her own so they could be together forever. Then she went over to a trunk, bringing out several bottles of liquid. She proceeded to coat his skin with this, mixing the solutions generously.
“Cooking oil?”
She didn’t reply. There was a distinct air of disappointment in her expression, like he should have killed Mary – and his child, if what she’d said was true.
“You and I have lived many lives,” she told him. “And we will live on forever, whatever happens. We will be together.”
She nodded at one of the men, who took Robert by the arms, wrenching him away from Mary when all he really wanted to do was kiss her, say goodbye. In all the scenarios he’d played out in his mind, after all the adventures and dangers he’d faced, he’d never once pictured this. Being eaten alive by a crazy Scottish woman who thought they were soul mates.
As he was pulled across to the ropes, his hands shoved inside them – then hauled upwards and across – he realised that the Widow had actually done worse to Mary than kill her. Now she would have to witness her husband being cooked alive and devoured.
On the Widow’s orders one of her guards lit the fire, as she began her damned chanting again. Must have been part of whatever process she thought would give her his soul.
He looked over at Mary. She was crying, trying to look away but not managing it. Wanting to capture his face, remember the moment – the last time she’d see him alive.
And once again, Robert wondered how he’d gotten into this mess.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SO FAR, IT was going according to plan.
Usually everything turned into such a mess. But not now, not this time. Twice he’d had to suffer defeat at the hands of his enemies. No more. As he drove along the road in the Eagle Armoured Vehicle, Tanek thought back to his meetings with the Widow and the Dragon.
Both had gone well enough, the latter more so. That Widow was going to be trouble eventually; she’d already been trouble as far as he was concerned, with her magic tricks and supposed clairvoyance. More co-operative had been that bloated excuse for a human being, the Dragon. Tanek had radioed in to say he was close to the man’s headquarters, and, after a tour of the weaponry and vehicles, he’d been escorted to the meet. The Welshman had quite an impressive set up, Tanek had to admit, funded by the people he himself represented. Tanks, armoured vehicles, guns, all supplied by the Germans.
Both were only playing at being dictators, though. Neither the Widow nor the Dragon had the foresight, nor the clout, to pull something off like
De Falaise, who’d swept up the country building an army as he’d gone. Nor did they possess the vision of the first Tsar.
If the Dragon and Widow had pooled their resources and teamed up, however, it might have been a different story.
His thoughts switched to the dreams the Widow had spoken of, the promise he’d made to his former leader to watch over his child. Tanek had assumed that was Adele, who’d come out of nowhere and almost caused Hood’s downfall. She’d been shot by Hood’s woman, Mary, and had died in Tanek’s arms – in spite of his best efforts to save her.
“Take it slow,” he’d told her as the bullet finally took its toll.
“No, I must... We have to save... He made me promise. My father.”
“Promise what?”
“Save –”
“Save who?”
Her grip on his arm had tightened: “His child. My brother. My little brother.”
A brother? Could it be? Somewhere out there, another child of De Falaise’s existed? Tanek would have bet anything – back when betting actually meant something – that there were lots of little De Falaise bastards out there, providing they’d had his O-Neg blood. If he’d conquered women like he conquered territories, then Tanek would have quite a search on his hands. The kid – if, indeed, it was still a kid – could be anywhere.
Tanek had done as he had before, after De Falaise’s death: retreated abroad. He figured he stood a better chance of tracking down the Sheriff’s child if he scoured Europe first. After all, that had been De Falaise’s playground for quite some time. Tanek had even tried searching back in Istanbul where he’d first encountered the Frenchman, but things had changed significantly while he’d been away. So many tin-pot dictators, exactly like the Dragon and the Widow, it was unbelievable. He couldn’t move without getting into a fight, or having to prove to the people there exactly who he was; though part of him was very flattered his reputation had spread.
If he hadn’t been on a mission, he might have stayed and showed them a thing or two, perhaps taking over a couple of their operations and building a force of his own. But it would be nothing compared to the armies already established in places like Germany.
He’d heard the rumours, just as others had heard rumours about him. There was some kind of new Reich starting up, not that he was any great fan of the Nazis – the whole Aryan race thing put him off – but if nothing else they were organised. And this version’s belief system was slightly more flexible than the old guard.
That was the impression he got and the confirmation he received when he made contact with the Army of the New Order. He hadn’t been able to gain access to the man in charge, but found himself talking to sympathetic members, one of whom had given him this gig, based on the tales of him almost taking out Hood, twice. The stories didn’t go into detail, thankfully, about how everything had gone to shit both times – just told how the upstart woodsman had nearly got his comeuppance at Tanek’s hands. He hadn’t corrected them.
As always, Tanek had been able to use that misplaced trust to his advantage. Yes, he would consent to oversee the distribution of the New Order’s property in the north and west of Britain. Yes, he would make sure they used it wisely, with one eye on trying to eradicate Hood – an extra bonus as far as he was concerned, just so long as he got to do the deed himself. But in return he also required men and equipment to implement one of his own projects.
Because, in the time between leaving England and hooking up with the New Order, Tanek had also heard rumours about a woman De Falaise had once been acquainted with. A woman called Gwen who – for reasons beyond Tanek’s comprehension – had held some appeal for his former leader. Tanek couldn’t believe he hadn’t worked it out before, the amount of time De Falaise had spent alone with her.
Tanek had lost track of the woman, but it didn’t take long to pick up the trail again. He couldn’t quite believe she’d been stupid enough to go back to the place where she’d first been kidnapped. Who would do that? Apparently it was because that was where the man she’d loved had been from, the man she – falsely – believed to be the father of her child. But Tanek felt sure that the son she’d borne belonged to the Frenchman. The timing, everything; it all fitted.
It hadn’t taken much effort, with the resources now at Tanek’s command, to pinpoint her village. And while he’d been travelling round checking on the Widow and Dragon, his men – sequestered from the New Order – had laid siege to her home. No questions asked, which was the way he liked it.
That was where he was driving to now, cross-country from Wales. It had taken a good few hours, but he hadn’t encountered any trouble. Driving the Eagle ensured you fairly safe passage.
In that time, he’d been in contact with the men on the ground – finding out what had happened during the siege. They’d begun a day or so ago, bedding in and using sniper fire to take out anyone coming and out. One jeep in particular returning from some kind of recce had been hit badly, along with a villager who’d fired on them. Ever since then they’d kept the place pinned down tight.
“I’m waiting for the ‘but,’” Tanek had said to the mercenary in charge, Brauer.
“Sadly, one of our men was captured.”
“Tell me that was a joke,” he spat down the handset, although his German comrades very rarely made those.
“I wish I could. But regrettably it is true.”
“How did he get captured when your men are surrounding the fucking village?” Tanek snapped. Static was his only reply, which just made him angrier. “Just tell me you’re making progress wearing them down?”
“We will be inside within the next day. I’d stake my life on that.”
“Choose your words carefully,” Tanek warned him. He had killed people for much less. He had killed people for pleasure, for that matter.
“There will be progress before you arrive, Herr Tanek,” he was promised. That would have to be good enough for now.
Even with the capture of one German – who knew relatively little in the great scheme of things, save for the reason they were there – Tanek felt oddly optimistic. Everything was pretty much going to his plan, the second phase of which would begin as soon as he reached New Hope.
And there was nothing and nobody to stand in his way this time.
GWEN WAS DETERMINED not to let anyone stand in her way. Not Andy, nor Jeffreys, not even the memory of her dear, sweet Clive. Nobody was going to take her son away from her. If it meant fighting to the death, then she’d do it. The rest of them could go screw themselves.
Ever since the German prisoner had told her what they were after, she’d been like this. His confession that they weren’t going to leave without Clive Jr had sent her into overdrive. And if she’d been hard on their captive before, that knowledge had pushed her over the edge.
“Tell me!” she’d demanded when she got over the shock, raking his cheek with her nails. “Tell me why you want my son!”
When she’d begun to tear into the wound in his side, the one that Jeffreys had spent so long stitching, Gwen had to be pulled away.
“Now that’s enough! He’s not going to talk,” Andy said in her ear as he and the good doctor dragged her away from the man. “You can see he’s not going to give you anything more.”
“He will when I’ve finished with him!” But, given a chance to calm down, Gwen realised the truth was, he probably wouldn’t. Not even under the kind of torture she’d love to inflict.
Torture, for Heaven’s sakes. Can you hear yourself? This wasn’t her, this really wasn’t her. But it was; nothing in the world was more important to her than her son, and these arseholes had come here specifically to take him. Why, she had no idea – and probably wouldn’t find out until it was too late. Until he was gone.
“What the hell’s going on?” Darryl had asked, rising from the couch as she’d returned home, slamming the front door behind her. He’d stayed there to keep an eye on Clive Jr, and because he was still wobbly after giving the German his blood
. She felt a twinge of guilt when she saw how pale he still was, because she’d been ready to drain every last drop of blood from that German in order to uncover the truth. Then again, she knew Darryl would understand – he was probably one of the few who would. He’d only volunteered for the transfusion in the first place so they could ask their captive questions. Clive would have been proud of the courage and self sacrifice the young man had shown tonight. Gwen vowed to tell him that, when she got the chance. When the time was right.
“No guts, none of them,” she grumbled under her breath. “They won’t do what’s necessary.”
“Easy, Gwen, sit down.”
She ignored him, pacing up and down, explaining what had happened during the interrogation. “I just don’t know what to do, Darryl. I won’t let them take Clive Jr.”
“Course not, none of us will.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, voice wavering. Before he could ask her what she meant, Clive Jr appeared in the doorway to the living room, wearing his pyjamas and clutching a teddy. He’d been in the other room asleep when Gwen came in. She went to him immediately.
“Oh, I’m so sorry for waking you sweetie, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Let’s get you back to bed, little man. You need your sleep.”
“He’s not the only one,” Darryl told her. “You look knackered.”
“Thanks a lot,” she laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said, concern etched on his face, and it was then that she realised just how much he cared about her.
Gwen shook her head. “I can’t, not with all this going on.”
“You’re no use to anyone like that, especially him,” Darryl said, nodding at Clive Jr.
He did have a point. How could she fight for her son when she was exhausted? She wouldn’t be able to think clearly if she was half asleep. “I’m not even sure I could, even if I tried,” she protested, but was already yawning in spite of herself; coming down off the adrenalin high she’d been on while questioning of the prisoner.