The last kingdom, p.34
The Last Kingdom, page 34
He shrugged. “Just another day at the office.”
Ming chuckled. “Quite right. But back to your choice. And let me add something to the equation. If somehow you do not care if that old woman dies, then I will kill her and find someone else you do care about. Perhaps Cassiopeia Vitt? Or your son?”
They’d done their homework. He would have expected no less. And he had no reason to doubt that this man would do exactly as stated. Chinese intelligence was noted for its ruthlessness. But he wanted to know, “Where’s Koger?”
“He and two old friends are in another part of the castle,” Ming said. “Becoming reacquainted.”
“So you made a deal with the Scythe?”
“Luckily for us both, our interests temporarily aligned.”
He realized that he’d found the head of the serpent and that it was going to be difficult to leave without some sort of bloodshed, preferably not his. Was the threat to McCarter’s life real? He had to assume that it was.
“All right,” he said. “I know the deciphered message.”
“That information would be most appreciated,” Ming said. “But, of course, we have to know it is correct. So you will come with us as we discover that for ourselves. If you are wrong, then”—Ming motioned with the phone—“something unfortunate will occur. Do we have an arrangement?”
“Doesn’t look like I have a choice. Besides, I’d like to see what’s out there too.”
Ming brought the phone back to his ear. “Stand by. If I do not check in with you personally every hour from this point on, do what we discussed.” The man ended the call. “I am hoping we can both act civilized.”
“Of course. Why not.”
But he had no illusions, realizing that once this man had what he wanted, he and McCarter were both dead.
The trick would be to stay a step ahead.
Chapter 76
DERRICK INTENDED ON DRAWING RIFE TOWARD HIM. HE’D FLED the king’s bedroom and an adjacent anteroom, returning to the long vestibule outside the throne room. The entrance to the spiral staircase used earlier was at the far end, another spiral staircase opening to his immediate left. He knew that Malone and the others were on the other side of the floor, so he decided up was the way to go. He climbed the stone risers, making no attempt to mask his steps. What awaited him on the next floor? He had no idea. But one thing was certain.
Rife would follow.
’Cause that’s what fools do.
* * *
RIFE WORKED HARD TO CONTROL HIS RAGE.
He’d not been this angry since the day the CIA fired him. The insult of a lifetime. Out of left field. He’d never seen it coming. But others had. Which made the whole thing even worse.
Terry Knight had been loyal. When he’d asked him to join forces, Knight had never hesitated. He was a dependable field officer, always getting the job done. No questions. No complaining. All you could ever ask for in a friend.
Now he was dead.
He stepped from the last room, back into a large vestibule area. Footsteps echoed to his left, coming from a spiral staircase.
Moving upward.
Koger.
Announcing his presence.
Typical.
He gripped his gun.
And followed.
* * *
DERRICK CAME TO THE TOP OF THE STAIRCASE FINDING HIMSELF ON the castle’s fourth floor. Much less lighting here, consistent with the building being shut down for the night. Four other portals exited out of the vestibule. One for the other spiral staircase at the far end, another to his left that led to the upper gallery of the throne room, and two that provided access to what a placard labeled as the Singers’ Hall. He recalled the curator mentioning it earlier. More paintings, all of German legend and high Romanticism, lined the vestibule walls.
He seemed unable to escape them.
He turned right and headed for the Singers’ Hall and entered a large rectangular space. Overhead a pinewood squared ceiling contained rich ornamental paintings and the signs of the zodiac. Its slanting sides rested on carved wooden supports loaded with images. Pillars rose periodically along the edges with more ornaments, arabesques, and allegorical representations. At the far short end was a dimly lit bower separated from the rest of the room by steps and three arcades, the murals behind it painted with a lively forest scene. Carved wooden benches with elaborate embroidery lined the long side walls, their coverings interwoven with gold thread. Gilded brass candelabra and chandeliers dotted the ceiling and parquet floor.
Big. Roomy. Old, but still decorous.
Perfect.
“Rife,” he called out. “I know you can hear me. Let’s settle this man-to-man. No guns. Just us.”
* * *
RIFE STOOD JUST PAST THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE, ON THE FOURTH FLOOR in another vestibule, and heard the challenge. The voice came from the open portal to his right, the one that led into what was identified as the Singers’ Hall. He turned and entered, spotting Koger standing fifty feet away, inside a dimly lit cavernous space. The big man tossed his gun aside and held both arms outstretched at his sides.
“You and me,” Koger said.
He tossed his own weapon away.
And accepted the challenge.
* * *
DERRICK CAUGHT THE HINT OF A SHADOW, THEN A BLACK FIGURE slithered into view, slow, cautious, and, as he reminded himself, full of deadly skill.
Luckily he knew about a street fight.
Anything went. Break fingers, poke out an eye, bust up a nose. Nothing was off-limits since the other guy was definitely trying to kill you. That meant you had to get him first. It was a fight for your life, with no rules and no referee. He’d had a number of them over many different things. Defending turf. Taking down a problem. Self-defense. Proving a point. Once even after a fender bender, which the other guy started. All of them had been born out of anger by people unable to control their emotions. Most had involved some amount of alcohol. All of them had been fueled by quick outbursts of emotion.
Like a friend being killed by your enemy.
Rife came straight at him.
Like his daddy used to say. There’s gonna be two licks passed here. One when I hit you and the other when you hit the ground. Derrick realized this man had surely participated in his own fair share of brawls.
But he’d had enough of this traitor.
And delivered a solid right jab to Rife’s jaw.
Which stopped the advance.
But not the attack.
Rife rebounded and lunged, wrapping both arms around his chest, trying to take him down in a full-blown tackle. But there were advantages to being six foot one and two hundred and forty pounds.
He stood his ground.
And brought a knee into Rife’s gut.
He heard the breath leave the man. Rife backed away, sucking in lungfuls of air. Steadying himself. A bruise had already formed on his right jaw.
“You’re not that tough, big man,” Rife spit out.
“Tough enough to deal with you.”
Rife straightened up and raised his fists.
He accepted the challenge and stepped forward, his own fists balled and ready. They stood toe-to-toe like two prizefighters, circling around one another, each looking for a weakness, waiting for an opening. He’d learned long ago that it was better to draw your opponent in than go to him.
So he hesitated.
Rife took the bait and swung, landing a left jab into his ribs.
Which hurt.
More than it should.
Not good.
* * *
RIFE FELT THE RIBS CRACK.
Good.
Koger toted fifty pounds on him and a few inches more in reach, but he knew how to handle himself in hand-to-hand. He liked that they were settling their differences straight up. But he did not intend for this to go on for long. He was maneuvering Koger across the floor, ever closer to one of the guns. They each lay on an opposite side of the hall.
Just get there.
And one shot would end this.
* * *
DERRICK WINCED AT THE PAIN IN HIS RIGHT SIDE, HIS BROW PRICKLY with sweat. Clearly, he was not twenty years old anymore. Rife had landed a solid blow, then followed with two more jabs that he’d managed to block, but a third connected with his ribs again.
He doubled over in pain.
Rife shoved him back toward one of the many candelabra that dotted the hall. They were each thick, heavy, about eight feet tall and gilded, resting on a tripod of three legs attached to a marble base. He stumbled and staggered, his arms wrapped around his ribs.
Rife stepped back, breathing hard, savoring the moment.
Derrick hit the wood wall hard and slid to the floor. The room expanded and contracted before his eyes, his ribs aching with each breath.
Something had broken.
The guns lay on the floor about twenty feet away. Rife made no attempt to get one. Instead, he just stood, rubbing his sore jaw, assuming the role of victor.
“You should not have killed Terry,” Rife said. “You should not have done that at all.”
“He was…a…traitor. Like…you.”
His left arm nursed the ribs, his right palm resting on the wood floor. A candelabra stood right in front of him. He kept breathing hard and made sure Rife knew he was in pain.
Which wasn’t hard. ’Cause he was.
“You’ve always been a pain in the ass,” Rife spit out. “But I’m goin’ to do everyone a favor and end that right now.”
Rife advanced on what he thought to be fallen prey. Derrick fought the pain and steeled himself. That was the thing about not being twenty anymore. You were a hell of a lot smarter. Come on. Closer. A drop of sweat slid in a slow track from his forehead to his chin, tickling his face.
Closer. Closer.
Every muscle in his body grew taut.
Rife came within range.
His right leg swung up and he planted the heel of his shoe on the stout gilded stem, shoving the heavy candelabra over.
Rife never saw it coming until it was too late.
The candelabra crashed into him. Rife tried to stop it, bringing both arms up, but its weight and momentum were more than enough to push back and take him down to the floor.
Derrick gritted his teeth, rolled, and came to his feet.
Rife wrestled with the candelabra, trying to get it off him.
Six steps and he found one of the guns.
Rife managed to push the candelabra away and tried to stand.
Derrick shot him in the chest.
The sharp bark echoed through the hall and hurt his ears.
Rife collapsed, his head lolled to one side, and a small gurgling noise seeped from his throat. A thin trickle of blood crawled down from the corner of his mouth. More blood spewed out in a violent exhale. A few spasms. A cough. The eyes glared at him, one moment with life, the next all gone. Muscle gave way and the flesh and bones settled on the floor.
In death.
End of problem.
He’d not even fired a gun in several years outside of range practice. But tonight he’d already killed two with one.
He needed to get back to Malone. Surely the shots had been heard. He turned and headed out of the hall by way of a long side corridor, one arm cradling his ribs. Windows opened to the castle’s exterior facing toward the path they’d used to enter earlier. He stopped a moment and gazed out to the night. Bright halogen lights lit the castle walls and the path below.
He caught sight of people. Walking away.
Fenn. Two other men, following Malone at gunpoint. The Duke of Bavaria. What was he doing here? And the last face. Chinese. Walking with a cane. Who was he? They all seemed chummy, except for Malone, and were leaving in a hurry. He shook his head. However he placed the pieces on the board, they added up to the same conclusion.
He’d apparently been played.
They’d surely left him to Rife and Knight, thinking they would eliminate the CIA’s involvement.
No such luck.
He was still on the board.
In play.
The curator was nowhere in sight below. The lack of response to the gunfire from anyone within or without the castle seemed to indicate a certain level of complacency. The man had certainly been cooperative with Fenn earlier. Derrick headed down the corridor toward the spiral staircase.
His side hurt. That much he’d not feigned.
But he’d live.
There was a job to be done.
Chapter 77
LUKE SLAMMED THE TRANSMISSION INTO GEAR AND FLOORED THE accelerator. The rear wheels skidded and the car spun, the back end swerving until the rubber caught the frozen pavement and they shot ahead. The other car was already coming straight at them. He adjusted his path and placed them on a collision course.
Playin’ chicken was a rite of passage in east Tennessee. Everybody did it at least once after getting their driver’s license. He actually did it a lot more than once. The idea? Drive your cars directly at each other. At some point you had to make a strategic decision. Either swerve out of the way, or keep straight. If one driver swerved while the other continued straight, the straight guy won. The prize? Simple respect. If both drivers swerved and avoided collision, both kept their honor. But if neither swerved, they both probably died. Respected. But still dead. He grew up in the day of no airbags, so head-on collisions were one hundred percent fatal. He’d been damn good at playin’ chicken. Keeping focus. Where the only world that mattered was the one caught in the headlights.
He accelerated.
Ninety kilometers an hour.
A hundred.
The distance between the two cars was closing fast. Trinity Dorner sat impassionate. Not a sound. Nor a movement. Nothing from the backseat either.
He kept going.
The headlights ahead grew larger through the windshield.
No other cars were on this dark stretch of highway.
The steering wheel vibrated in his hands, signaling the tires were a bit out of balance. He still owned a vintage Mustang, his pride and joy, and he always made sure those four radials, with the shiniest chrome hubs you’d ever seen, were perfectly balanced.
He kept the car on a straight path.
When you played chicken in Tennessee there was an unwritten rule. Always veer right. That way nobody got in anyone else’s way. But that presupposed the game was being played from the middle of the road. Which was not the case here. They were in the other car’s lane. That meant he had room to go right, but the other car had nowhere to go except left. So if they flinched, they’d both be headed the same way.
That meant—
He pressed the accelerator harder.
One hundred twenty kilometers an hour.
The other car suddenly veered left, into the opposite lane.
He kept the steering wheel steady, the car traveling straight ahead.
The swerve by the other car at such a high speed came with consequences, which he’d witnessed before. The combination of deviation and momentum angled the car upward onto the driver’s side’s two wheels, like a stunt in some movie, only it did not stay there. In the rearview mirror he saw the car keep going, flipping over, slamming into the pavement, sliding across the asphalt, upside down, sparks spewing out in its wake.
* * *
DERRICK DESCENDED TO THE GROUND FLOOR. HIS BODY HURT FROM the unaccustomed abuse, especially his ribs. Each step down came with pain.
He saw no one on the ground floor. The curator had to be somewhere, so he found the gift shop. Empty. He stepped back outside to the inner courtyard. Lights burned in the gatehouse on the second floor. He located a staircase and climbed, locating a series of offices. He found the curator inside one of them, donning his coat, preparing to leave. He rushed in and jammed the gun into the lower part of the Bavarian’s jaw.
“Where did they go?”
The man’s eyes went wide with terror, his face a mask of fear. “Linderhof.”
“Where is that?”
“About an…hour from…here. Another…of Ludwig’s castles.”
“Why there?”
“The cipher…pointed there. To the…Venus Grotto. Behind the castle.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
The head nodded yes.
“I want it.”
It was quickly produced. Not a smartphone. Just a simple flip unit.
“Any security code?”
The head shook no.
He withdrew the gun. “Get out of here.”
The man scurried for the door.
“By the way. There are two dead bodies waiting on the third and fourth floors.”
The man stared at him in astonishment.
“That’s your problem,” he told the curator. “Not mine. Leave.”
The man ran out the door.
He heard a new sound. The heavy rhythmic beating of a helicopter’s rotor. Firing up, then fading away.
Derrick opened the phone and dialed.
* * *
LUKE WORKED THE BRAKE AND BROUGHT THE CAR TO A STOP.
“You have quite the nerve,” Dorner said. “How did you know he would go left?”
“I didn’t. But it was his only option.”
“Quite the risk-taker.”
“I just do what has to be done.”
Toni and the driver in the backseat said nothing. Not much to say. He shifted to reverse, swung the car around, and drove back to the other vehicle.
He and Toni exited.
They bent down in the darkness and looked inside.
Neither man was moving. But he noticed something. “They’re Chinese.”
Toni checked a pulse on one. “Not a problem anymore. Dead.”
“What the hell are they doing here?”
The phone in his pocket vibrated. He found the unit and answered, though he did not recognize the number.
“Luke.”
Koger.
“Where are you?”
He told him.
“That’s good. We need to get to a place called Linderhof. It’s about an hour away. Malone is captive and being taken there by helicopter.” Derrick gave Luke his location. “Come get me. And fast.”
