Hooded Man (93 page)

That had been when Mary stepped in with the sodium pentothal. Picked up during routine searches of medical facilities for supplies that she and the trainee nurses back home could use, Mary was the only one allowed to administer this drug, and even then only in extreme circumstances. It was surprising how much looser their tongues were then, spilling information about lookout positions dotted around the city, guard changes, patrol patterns.

“This German connection wi’ the jeeps, bikes an’ guns still bothers me,” Bill concluded.

Robert nodded. “This whole thing goes beyond simple raiding parties. We’re going to have to stamp on the Widow before she gets out of control.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” said Mary.

What he had in mind was getting inside the castle for a closer look at their operation, perhaps even tracing the Widow’s support to its source. If they were facing another invasion, then forewarned was forearmed: a hand-picked strike force, led by himself, would ascertain the level of threat, and eradicate it if necessary. He thought Mary might argue about him going, but she didn’t. All she said was that if he went, then she was going too, which was fair enough. As much as he still felt that twinge of dread whenever she wanted to accompany him on a mission, he knew she’d be feeling exactly the same about him. If one of them was going, then both should. And, as he’d observed on many occasions, Mary was one hell of a fighter. She’d saved his skin at least as many times as he’d saved hers – more, probably. If anyone was going to watch his back, Robert wanted –
needed
– Mary.

“Right, when do we leave?” Bill wanted to know.

Robert shook his head. “I want you to stay here.”

“What?”

“I can’t afford to have all my best people on this. I need you out here, Bill, in case we run into difficulties.” Robert didn’t call Bill a loose cannon – often literally, with that shotgun of his.

Bill argued a little – “I was the one who bloody well brought ye into all this!” – but in the end he grudgingly accepted the logic of Robert’s decision. That was probably a first.
Must be mellowing in his old age
, thought Robert.

“And Bill,” he said, “if we do need backup, promise me you won’t kit the Rangers out with machine-guns or whatever. No heavy stuff. Let them fight how they were meant to. How they were
trained
to.”

Bill folded his arms.

“Promise me,” Robert insisted.

“Aye, all right,” Bill said reluctantly. “But I still think ye’re bloody crackers.”

Robert grinned. “Nothing new there, then.”

Using maps of the castle, Robert had outlined how they were going to play this: entering the city just as they had done when taking Nottingham Castle the first time, only this time knowing exactly where to avoid, and under cover of darkness. He knew his Rangers could move silently, unseen, through the urban forest just as he had done through Sherwood. When they were close enough, they’d split into three teams of a handful each: one, led by Azhar, making an assault up the rocks on the north side, climbing over the wall at a point just down from the Argyle Battery cannons. The second, led by a Ranger called Annie Reid, would do the same on the south side, gaining access up and into the grounds near the old Scottish United Services Museum. The third group would take out the guards outside the Gatehouse, replacing them with Rangers dressed in captured raider uniforms, who would then let in the rest of that team. Later they’d regroup within the castle boundaries.

“The good thing is, the Widow doesn’t have nearly as many men as either De Falaise or the Tsar at the moment,” Robert informed his troops. “With a bit of luck, we should be able to get in there, get the job done, and leave again without anyone having seen us.”

Robert and Mary would be leading the frontal assault. “It’ll be just like old times,” she said to her husband, thinking of when she’d walked through the gates of Nottingham Castle to confront the Sheriff.

“Let’s hope not,” Robert replied. “I don’t want to take on her entire army just yet.”

Preparations were made and they’d set off on horseback for Scotland’s capital in the afternoon, timing it so they’d reach the castle itself by nightfall. Everything had gone well, they’d managed to avoid the Widow’s people watching for signs of intruders in the city, and tethered their mounts once they were close enough to make it on foot. They moved as one through the streets, and even Robert was impressed by the way his people conducted themselves – all those hours of practise had paid off. He felt proud as they pressed themselves up against walls, checked around corners. They couldn’t have been better trained if they’d been on the police force with him all those years ago.

When the time came, they’d branched off: Azhar skirting round one side with his team; Annie taking her group round the other, keeping to the shadows at the base. And near the Esplanade – where jeeps, tanks and other armoured vehicles were stationed – Robert and Mary held back with the others. Two of their Rangers, dressed in the Widow’s tartan, handled the guards at the Gatehouse. They could have taken them out with arrows, but didn’t want to risk raising an alarm; guards suddenly keeling over at the same time was sure to cause suspicion. Better to take them out at close quarters and replace them almost immediately. Robert looked on as the Rangers crept silently up towards the Gatehouse, sneaking behind the guards simultaneously, hands over mouths, knocking them out and taking their places.

Once the nod was given, the rest of them moved forwards just as stealthily, finding whatever cover they could to reach the arch. “Good work,” Robert whispered to his troops now standing guard, as they let them all in through the front door, flanked on either side by statues of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Robert couldn’t help thinking that Scotland deserved the kind of freedom those men had fought so hard for, not the slavery this Widow obviously had in mind.

Inside, they remained in the shadows, making their way up towards the Portcullis Gate, the second line of the Widow’s defence. They waited patiently for confirmation that Azhar’s team had taken out the guards here, which came when the lethal-looking gate was raised.

Nicely done, Azhar
, thought Robert, waving to the figures up in the building above them.

He motioned for his team to move forwards through the gate, into the castle grounds proper. This place was much larger than their castle, but that meant there were more places to hide between its many buildings: St Margaret’s Chapel, the rounded water Reservoirs, the large War Memorial. No sooner had they entered than they had to conceal themselves as a dozen or so of the Widow’s men walked past.

“That was close,” Mary said.

He nodded, but found himself frowning at the same time. It was about now that the sense of unease really hit him: his own instinct telling him something was wrong. As good as they were at this kind of operation, this was all a bit too easy.

Robert registered more jeeps outside the New Barracks – which housed the bulk of the Widow’s troops – as they moved back and round towards the Royal buildings where the woman herself would be located.

He looked around as they entered the Crown Square, then tugged on Mary’s arm. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“What is it?”

“This smells like –” He was about to say ‘a trap,’ but by then it was obvious. Lights kicked in from above and they were surrounded by armed guards, swarming from every conceivable nook and cranny. Ranger Madison, at Robert’s side, raised his bow and felled a couple of the Widow’s men, and was shot dead at point blank range for his trouble. Mary’s Peacekeepers were out, but Robert put an arm across to stop her from firing. It was no use, they were hopelessly outnumbered and in a confined space. Their only hope was that Annie Reid and her team might come to their aid, but that was soon dashed when Robert heard a voice from one of the open windows above.

“Welcome to our home, Robin,” said the woman with the wild hair. “I know what you’re thinking, but yer other teams are a little bit tied up right now.” The crowds parted to show them the other Ranger groups, including Ahzar’s, captured: their hands bound behind their backs. “Who do yer think let you in at the Portcullis Gate?” She laughed, and it echoed around the square. “I knew you fellas were coming even before you did.”

It crossed Robert’s mind that he could pick her off with just one arrow. Her men wouldn’t be able to stop him in time.

“I wouldnae try that,” she called down. “It’d just be a waste of an arrow – and yer life.”

Lucky guess, had to be. It was what anyone in this position would be thinking.

“What is it that you want?” said Robert, perhaps hoping to negotiate, but knowing full well this wasn’t a woman who could be bargained with.

“Yer come here in the dead of night and ask what
I
want? It seems obvious
yer
wantin’
me
. You want to know ma secrets. That’s okay, because what I want is
you
, Hooded Man, so I’d be more than happy tae oblige.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE MORE HE
explored of the place, the more he realised just how dangerous this man’s outfit was.

Take Cardiff Arms Park, for example, next door. Dale had managed to sneak a look from up high in the stadium and saw that it was filled with all kinds of jeeps, tanks, tracked and eight-wheeled armoured vehicles. They must have widened or knocked down the entrance to get them all in. And more seemed to be arriving every day, enough to take on the rest of Wales, maybe even sometime soon the rest of what had once been Great Britain. Where they were coming from, he had no idea, and he was no closer to finding out.

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 –