by Paul Heron
‘Look,’ Michael shouted. ‘They're not getting this fragment. I don't give a shit how many people we have to mow down to get it.’
‘You're fired up,’ Marcel said. ‘I like it. Let’s make our move. You're right, the longer we stand here chatting, the riskier it gets.’
‘Let's at least watch a bit of the show!’ Ajit said.
Anxiously, they all watched as the bull was made the main attraction. After ten minutes of watching the beast run towards it’s target, and listening to oos and jeers from the crowds, Michael watched as Mohammad got fed up of seeing the bull being treated with so much abuse. Michael knew what was on Mohammad's mind and he laughed at the thought of what Mohammad was going to do.
‘Don’t be doing anything dangerous,’ Michael said, knowing Mohammad would know who in the group he was referring to.
Mohammad didn't even look at Michael. He just gave him a side glance whilst trying to contain his cheeky grin. He was certainly grateful for Cernunnos – the Irish God of Animals for giving him his power. And as if right on cue, Mohammad let out one hell of a whistle causing the bull to stop dead in it’s tracks. Everyone watched, anticipation growing. The bull reversed the tricks and began sizing up the matador who'd subjected it to so much abuse and torment for the previous quarter of an hour. The matador was dressed in an expensive looking ‘torero’ style suit, designed for such events. Green and gold with intricate designs, the costume was without a doubt an expensive piece of tailored clothing. It would be easily ripped to shreds if the bull had it’s way.
‘Mohammad, what are you doing?’ Sofia shouted, half laughing, as the bull turned and slowly approached the barrier where the president and Rodriquez sat. The beast was glaring straight at the president and his security. ‘Mohammad, don’t do anything stupid.’ Sofia was struggling to keep her face straight as the entire arena looked on as the animal completely ignored the gestures from the matador.
‘Actually Mohammad, if you distract everyone's attention it'll give us a chance to get closer to the fragment. Then, the moment Alban swoops in, we'll be off,’ Michael said. Everyone looked at him wondering what was going through his mind. ‘Let's go, quickly!’ He looked at Scarlett as he passed her on the stand. ‘Let’s go get this fragment.’
‘Alban's circling the stadium now,’ Carolina said, staring at her phone. ‘He’s thirty seconds away from landing and can’t stay in the air for long.’
Upon hearing this, Michael, followed by Scarlett and Enrique charged through the crowd, shoulder barging people out of the way. The crowd went wild as the bull approached the stand’s barrier, nudging the only thing separating the crowd from the eleven-hundred-pound untamed angry slab of muscle. Michael could hear the cheers and laughs of Mohammad.
About ten feet away from the president – who was looking terrified – Michael looked back at Sofia and before he could say anything, the chops of the Black Hawk’s descent became an additional distraction for the crowd. But Mancini agents were quick to understand what was happening. Michael's eyes were fixed on the black container. The president grabbed it, but it was quickly intercepted by Rodriquez. Scarlett pushed Michael and told him to get down as she pulled her pistol out, ordering Maria and Enrique to do the same. At this point the crowd was screaming, it had become a stampede. Gun shots were fired. Michael turned to look behind him. Everyone was still there. Marcel had forced his way through the crowd to catch up with Michael.
‘We'll get the fragment, Michael!’ Marcel shouted. ‘The rest of you guys get to the chopper.’ He pushed past Michael, taking the lead, jumping over the barrier into the president’s area. The rest ran through the crowd as Alban landed the chopper, throwing a sand cloud into the air. The bull was now preparing to charge through the barrier. Michael and Marcel both jumped over seats. Two security guards tried stopping them. As one of the guards pulled a weapon, Michael jumped towards him, kicking it from his hand and sending it into the ground. Rodriquez wrestled with Marcel. Marcel threw the Spaniard to the ground. Face down onto the ground, he pulled Rodriquez’s right arm back, popping his shoulder out of it’s joint.
Michael heard the agonising screams of Rodriquez over the noise of the crowd, as he ran towards President Perez who was now gripping the box tightly. He tried to wrestle with Michael over the fragment, but Michael stomped the president’s toe, causing him to flinch and drop the container. Michael caught it in mid-air, and he went into the mode of the Gaelic footballer he was known for being back in Belfast. He shoulder-barged the president out of his way whilst gripping the container tightly to his chest. In that moment he felt like a parent holding his baby. Marcel led the way, Michael following him over the barrier and onto the sand covered area of the arena's centre stage.
The chopper was still sending a sand storm into the air. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Michael fought to keep the aircraft in his sights. He was grateful to see the side door slide open. He gripped the container tightly as he sprinted. Marcel was at his side, almost as if they were both competing for the Olympic one hundred metre gold. Then he felt it, a sharp jab in his neck as if being punched. He slapped his neck where he felt the impact. He felt as if he'd been stung by something. His vision instantly becoming blurry, he began to feel dizzy. Light headed, he felt weak as he reached the chopper, and with double vison. His limbs went to sleep. He had just enough energy to throw the container into the chopper, then he fell against it as Ringo and Alban reached down to pull him in. They dragged him in like a lifeless corpse. Only he was still conscious. Everything went quiet.
He lay face down in the middle of the ground in the chopper. He felt something heavy land on top of him from behind. He saw Marcel's motionless hand hit the ground beside his face. The Brazilian had just collapsed on top of Michael. Everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MICHAEL WOKE, FEELING groggy as if he'd been out on the piss – a feeling he didn’t like after his experience at the Little Camberly Inn when they'd all gotten drunk and arrested. He was in his bed, in his room at the coastal estate of Santander. He could barely understand what was being said in an argument between Alban and Scarlett, but he knew they were furious about something. It was coming in through his bedroom window from the garden below. He rotated out of his bed. Standing slowly, he used his hand to balance himself on the bedside cabinet. Walking towards the window, he welcomed the cool night breeze. But what wasn't welcome was the argument he was hearing. Scarlett and Alban were both at each other’s throat. As he got to the window, their words became clear.
‘No, Scarlett, it's too dangerous!’ Alban shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. ‘It's not just dangerous, it’s crazy!’
‘Alban, we're not leaving without them,’ Scarlett screamed. ‘What the hell do you think we can do? We're dead if we walk away. At least these guys had the balls to die trying!’
‘I’m not going back to Madrid!’
‘Well, you can tell Michael and Marcel when they wake up.’
Having heard enough, Michael threw on his robe and went down to the kitchen. He went straight for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. He exited the kitchen into the moonlit garden. Necking half the bottle, he sat down at the table. Scarlett and Alban’s argument had been replaced by an awkward silence. They sat quietly looking at Michael. Alban cleared his throat. Scarlett shuffled in her chair.
‘How are you feeling?’ Scarlett asked.
‘That depends.’ Michael looked at Alban, then Scarlett. ‘What happened, and who's in Madrid?’
‘Michael-’
Scarlett was interrupted by Marcel coming out of the house. ‘What the hell are you two arguing about?’ He gave Michael another bottle of water as he sat down beside the rest of them. ‘And why do we need to go back to Madrid? We got the fragment!’ He pat Michael on the shoulder. ‘Well done.’ He sounded as groggy as Michael felt.
‘Thanks, but one of you two need to say something, because I just want to wake the rest up and get out of here.’
> ‘They've been caught,’ Scarlett shouted. The words burst through her lips as if she couldn't hold them in any longer. ‘Mancini had a sniper. Somewhere in the arena. They were shot before they got to the chopper. It was just you two that got away.’
‘What? And you left them there?’ Michael shouted. ‘You gotta be kidding.’ He looked at Marcel. ‘Please tell me they're kidding.’
Marcel went quiet, looking down at his clinched fists, his jaws clinching.
‘We got the fragment, Michael,’ Alban pleaded, sounding defensive. ‘We had to get the fragment-'
‘To hell with that fragment.’ Michael swung for the container that was sitting on the table, sending it tumbling over the edge crashing to the ground. ‘Marcel, get your stuff. Alban, you get in the chopper. We're going back to Madrid. Now!’
‘I think it’s better to take the fragment back to the cave first. Then we can get the group.’ Alban swallowed hard.
‘Either you're stupid or just a coward!’ Marcel shouted, standing up. ‘But we’re not going anywhere but back to Madrid. It shouldn't even be up for debate.’
‘Marcel, Mancini have the rest. All we can do is get the fragment back to the cave. They are too big for us!’
‘Alban, get it into your head - we're not going anywhere. We leave Spain together,’ Scarlett shouted, standing up finishing her cup of coffee. ‘Together! All of us.’
‘Well, I’m not flying anywhere near Mancini, and you're all stupid for wanting to.’
‘Say another word and I’ll kick you up and down this garden!’ Marcel shouted, kicking his chair, sending it into the table.
‘Screw you, Marcel!’ Alban threw his empty cup of coffee at him, hitting Marcel in the shoulder. He stood up, ready for a fight.
Marcel went for Alban, but Michael grabbed him. ‘Leave him. We’ll leave the chicken shit here. We don’t want someone like that working with us!’
‘If you knew what you’re doing, they'd all still be here. It’s your fault if they die,’ Alban mumbled under his breath.
Michael spun around. Letting go of Marcel, he reached over the table grabbing Alban by the scruff. He dragged Alban over the table and repeatedly punched him in the face until Marcel dragged him off. With Alban on the ground, Michael reached down on the table and snatched the key to the Black Hawk. He looked at Marcel then Scarlett. ‘Here, Scarlett you fly the chopper.’
‘Better if we take the fragment with us.’ Marcel grabbed the container from the ground.
‘No answer from George,’ Scarlett said, cradling her mobile on her shoulder while rummaging through her handbag. She pulled out two pistols, and four clips, giving Marcel a pistol and two clips and the rest to Michael. ‘I'm only gonna say this once, now listen up. Don’t hesitate, these may save our lives and the rest of the group.’
They got to the chopper and Scarlett jumped into the pilot's seat but was quickly interrupted from her pre-flight checks by Alban. ‘I’ll fly,’ Alban said, wiping blood from his swollen lip. ‘I'm sorry, guys.’ He turned and spoke into the cabin where Michael and Marcel were sat.
‘Me too,’ Michael said, pointing to his lip.
‘Let’s get the rest back!’
After a flight without any talk, they landed in the barnyard. The four remaining members of the group sat quietly. A feeling of loss was everywhere. Mohammad's jokes about Alban's landing, Sofia's focus steering them away from any unnecessary small talk, had all been replaced by a sadness and longing for the rest of the group again.
Michael looked at Marcel and Scarlett. Marcel's body was in the aircraft, but his mind was elsewhere. Scarlett had that look on her face that Michael had first seen in France when she first talked about Mallory Couture – fury wasn’t a strong enough word to describe it. But was the anger towards herself or the kidnappers?
They all jumped out into the cold night air. ‘We should eat before going in for them. And we need to refuel,’ Alban said.
‘We'll eat together,’ Marcel snapped. ‘All of us. Together.’
‘I’ve received a message from Guillermo,’ Scarlett said, instantly calling him, putting the call on loudspeaker. ‘Guillermo?’
‘Scarlett, thank goodness you're okay.’ Guillermo's emotional tone spoke volumes of how grateful he was to not be the only one that got away. ‘Who are you with?’
‘I’m with Michael, Marcel and Alban. Ringo's here preparing cars. The rest were caught.’ Scarlett led the way into the farmhouse. The house had a spooky, almost ghostly feel to it. As if Elisabetta was there, ready to haunt them for failing.
‘This is not good. I was lucky to sneak away, but I’m hiding in the city now. I’m afraid to walk the streets in case they grab me. Maria, Enrique?’
‘With them,’ Alban said. ‘Do you know where they've been taken?’
‘I don’t know, but I know this is bad. They're not telling the public about this. It’s a secret war between the Sirani Foundation and the Mancini Corporation and it isn’t going to end well.’
They entered the kitchen. Michael threw the fragment’s container down on the table, not in the slightest bit concerned about it. He pulled his phone out. ‘I'm calling George again. We've got nothing to go on. We have no idea where the rest of them are, and we're wasting time.’ He walked over to the fridge, pulled out four bottles of coke. Setting the bottles down on the table and planting himself down on the stool beside Marcel, he set his phone down to open the bottle. ‘Someone must have seen something. We'll go back to the arena and start there.’
‘Guillermo, it’s better we stick together,’ Marcel said. ‘Where are you exactly? We'll meet you in the city.’
‘How about the underground carpark we first met in? Close to the palace?’ Guillermo said.
‘Okay, how long until you reach it?’ Scarlett asked, checking her phone for any news updates.
‘Probably, on foot about one hour. Give or take.’
‘Okay, look out for the blue and black Rolls Royce Ghosts. And Guillermo... be careful,’ Scarlett said.
‘You too.’ Guillermo signed off.
As they approached the barn where the cars sat hidden, a clanging sounded, repeatedly. As they approached the dimly lit barn, Michael could see two feet under the black vehicle. ‘Ringo's getting everything ready then?’
‘He's checking oil levels, air in the tyres. Even loading the boot with weapons. We'll need it.’ Scarlett opened the boot and looked inside a large black bag. The rattle of metal told Michael they were preparing to go into World War Three.
‘Everything ready, Ringo?’ Michael shouted under the car, as Ringo slid out from beneath it.
‘Just about.’ Ringo reached out his oil covered hand for Michael to pull him to his feet. ‘Let’s go cause a bloody mess in Madrid. Alban, you’re in the blue one, I'm taking this one.’ Ringo wiped his sweat soaked face with his t-shirt. ‘Where’s the fragment?’
Michael tapped the black holdall slung over his shoulder. ‘In here, but right now, this means nothing. We get the rest of the group back or this piece-of-shit stone has no worth at all.’
‘Good man,’ Ringo said, throwing Alban the key to the blue Rolls. ‘Let's go.’ He jumped into the driver seat and started the engine.
Michael ran into the house to use the toilet and collect his thoughts before leaving. After emptying his bowels, he splashed cold water over his face. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Straight into his eyes. Momentarily he felt a hot flush, then he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes. Two seconds later, the dizziness passed. Then sickness came. He turned and sprinted towards the toilet. Dropping to his knees, he launched his head into the toilet bowl, emptying his stomach. The smell of the toilet made it worse.
After a moment of coughing and spitting, a feeling of relief came over him. His head rested against the edge of the toilet bowl. The cool air coming in through the window made him feel drowsy. He wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep. Everything in his head was still for a moment. He was about to fall asleep when
he heard it. He felt it, a whisper in his ear. ‘Take the lead, Michael. You must be the one to lead this. I’m counting on you.’ He felt warm breath on his ear, accompanying Elisabetta's voice. When all of a sudden, the sound of a chopper approaching caused him to jump to full alertness again.
Michael sprinted out of the house, feeling his control and their plan slipping out of his grasp. He could almost see the prison cell door close in front of him. He stood at the entrance to the house, watching as not only one but two Black Hawks landed beside the barn, blocking the two cars in.
‘Screw it!’ Michael shouted, running towards one of the choppers as the sliding door opened. He lifted a rock the size of a bowling ball from the flower bed that lined the barn yard and ran towards the person who was getting out the aircraft.
‘Michael, don’t!’ Scarlett shouted, but he was that pissed he just didn’t care anymore. ‘It's George!’ Scarlett screamed just as Michael was about to launch the rock.
‘George?’ Michael said, dropping the rock as he started in confusion.
Their mentor was clearly grateful to see some of the group wasn’t captured, accompanied by a tall thin lady wearing a navy business suit. She had beautiful olive skin, shoulder length brown hair and if it was any shorter, Michael would have thought it was Sofia. She shouted in Italian, ordering a group of armed suits out of the choppers, telling them to go and check the other vehicles. A man with similar features and shorter hair accompanied her and George. He had a smile that would compete with Marcel's.
‘Michael, this is Angelina Sirani. She's Sofia's aunt and younger sister to Sofia's mother,’ George said. ‘And this guy who's looking excited to have an excuse to use his pistol-’
‘I'm excited about putting a bullet in Diego Rodriquez,’ the man said, looking closely at his pistol as if closely inspecting it.
‘- is Lorenzo Sirani, Angelina’s older brother.’ George finished. ‘The second I got wind of the others being caught, I knew it was time to call in some back up. Domenico Cipolla has ordered the Sirani Foundation’s top agents from around the world to prepare. As he said, if need be, the entire foundation will descend on Spain if it has to to get everyone back.’ George took a pistol from inside his jacket and checked the clip. Sliding the loaded magazine back in, he looked at Michael. ‘We only get one shot at this. Elisabetta and the Tuatha de Danann don’t have a replacement seven. You guys are it. Now let’s get to Madrid and get the rest of them back.’