Labyrinth (33 page)

The passengers started crowding into the aisles and he joined them. His isolation was a temporary matter. He would contact Vaslov with news of a shadowy terrorist group called SAS-Ultra. Its one-eyed leader had to be found and convinced to join him in attempting to destroy the Committee.

Locke would be waiting for him at the Rome Hilton. Dogan would begin the process from there.

Forenzo, the hotel manager, knew his old friend would be arriving sometime that night. Of course, the American could not be allowed to enter the hotel. The forces that had caught Locke were undoubtedly still about and discretion had to be observed. It would be a small matter to ward Dogan away and one that Forenzo would take on himself. His friend would be looking for him and Forenzo had already prepared the signal. The only other thing required was his presence in the lobby.

Night had already fallen when Forenzo returned to his windowless office. The hotel still had to operate and he was behind in his work. He opened the door to his office and limped inside, flicking on the light switch.

Nothing happened. The bulb must have blown, he figured. He had started to turn back out the door when he felt his shoulders grabbed and twisted. At the same time, the door closed all the way plunging the room into total blackness.

Forenzo was shoved viciously against the wall and was about to scream when he felt the burst of agony in his abdomen. All that emerged was a gasp and a gurgle as the blade was pushed in and drawn up, splitting his midsection in two. Blood poured up his throat but Forenzo was dead before it began to spill out. He slumped down against the wall drenched with his own insides.

Minutes later, after depositing the manager's body in a pile of dirty linen, Shang stepped into a room on the tenth floor and began the wait for Dogan.

Audra St. Clair held the receiver tighter to her ear.

“Dogan will be out of the way by the end of this evening,” Mandala reported.

“And Locke?”

Mandala hesitated. “He slipped away from us again in Plymouth but he won't get far.”

The old woman breathed a sigh of relief. She was playing with dynamite here, but a person did not reign over the Committee for a quarter century without developing a stomach for such things. Matters were out of hand, she knew that now along with the fact that Mandala was to blame. He was shrewd and cunning and would not be easy to best. She had defeated other worthy opponents, though, and he would prove no different.

“You learned nothing from Locke in Rome?”

“I'm afraid he's better than we thought. Displaying his son's finger should have gained us everything but, still, he held back.”

“You underestimated him, Mr. Mandala.”

“We all did.”

“If you find him, you will bring him to me with no more of these childish games. It's time for Mr. Locke to join our crusade instead of fighting it. That means the release of his son is mandated. Understood?”

Mandala remained silent.

“I asked if my instructions were understood. I want the boy returned safely to America.”

“As you wish, madam.”

Mandala hung up the phone, hoping he hadn't hesitated long enough to make the old bitch suspicious of what was really going on without her knowing. Her orders had puzzled him greatly. Not that they mattered, of course. Locke's son was to be executed just after midnight unless instructions were received to the contrary. And since he had no intention of issuing them, the boy for all intents and purposes was already dead.

Chapter 26

IT WAS PITCH BLACK
when Nikki pulled her car to a halt down the road from Bruggar House.

“You still haven't told me a damn thing about who you are or what your stake in this is,” Locke said. “You are obviously part of the Committee, yet you acted against those who eliminated Burgess and his men at the Holiday Inn.”

“If you know that, you know enough for now,” she said firmly.

“But at the airport in Rome this morning, how did you know I'd use you the way I did?”

“I made myself available to aid your escape. You chose the proper strategy. I was impressed.”

“Spoken like a true professional… .”

“It's going to take one to save your son's life.”

That silenced Locke and suddenly he understood. Nikki was a killer, same as the dark man and Shang. The hardness of her eyes now was identical to theirs—and Dogan's—but the look didn't fit her. She should have been the smiling, happy girl from the airport. In the world he had entered, nothing could be taken for what it seemed to be. People became whatever best suited them at the time, revealing their true selves only rarely. Chris wondered if he was seeing Nikki's now. He followed her from the car.

They had discussed the plan on the way into Cadgwith Cove, going over and over it along the Lizard. She estimated four or five men would be inside Bruggar House. The key was swift and silent action. The men's orders would be to kill their hostage immediately if assaulted. They could not know an assault was underway until it was too late.

Nikki opened the trunk and handed Locke a pair of Mac-10 machine guns.

“Thirty-shot clips. Nine millimeter,” she explained. “One for each of us but you'll have to carry both and stay out of sight until I get inside. I'd expect them to have a man watching the outside from one of the upstairs windows. That means you'll have to approach from the side. That's a lot of ground to cover in very little time.”

“I can handle it.”

“Once inside, your job is to protect my back. With any luck, my gun will be the only one we'll need.”

Nikki grabbed a twin pair of sheathed blades from the trunk and stuck them on opposite sides of her belt. Chris noted their unique shape, blades circling off in near forty-five degree angles from the hilts.

“
Kukhri
knives,” he muttered, “weapon of the legendary Gurkha soldiers from India. Where in hell did you learn how to use them?”

Nikki made no reply, just closed the trunk and started away. Locke followed in step toward the dark outline on the cliff that was Bruggar House.

The leader of the team holding the boy inside did not like working with Chinks. Too damn creepy for his tastes. The two they had sent him this time were better than most, but he still avoided turning his back on them.

He was a bear of a man with a pockmarked face and had reserved the duty of killing their hostage for himself. If the Chinks didn't like it that was too fucking bad. He would have preferred to be done with the job already, but the orders specified midnight and the damn Chinks always insisted orders be followed to the letter. He didn't want to push things too far with them. They were slippery creatures, these two, small but incredibly quick.

Now midnight was almost here and the leader was spinning the cylinder of his Magnum. A long time ago he might have felt pity for the fair-haired boy with the blood-dried bandaged around his mangled hand, perhaps even regret at having to kill him. Tonight, though, all he felt was amazement at the job the damn Chinks had done on him with their knives, a surgical masterpiece.

Little bastards had been good for something, after all.

Locke split from Nikki halfway down the street and moved toward the cliff out of sight from Bruggar House. Nikki approached straight on. Chris kept her in view as long as he could, then stepped up his pace when she disappeared into the darkness.

Nikki moved right up the front walk without hesitating and rapped the brass knocker hard.

“Hey, is anybody home? Come on, I need help!”

Above her in a second-floor window, a shadow flickered. Obviously the lookout. She rapped the knocker harder.

“Come on, I know there's somebody in there.”

She heard footsteps approaching but the shadow remained in the upstairs window. That was bad. If he saw Locke coming, the boy would probably be killed.

Nikki heard locks being turned inside the heavy door. Still no lights had gone on outside, leaving her
Kukhri
shielded by darkness. The door opened. From the dimness inside, a face peered out, inspecting her.

“You're not gonna believe this,” she said, seizing the advantage, “but my car broke down and I don't know where the hell I am. I sort of got lost.”

The door stayed open just a crack. “Yeah, well, we can't help you.”

She made herself look innocent. “All I need is a phone.”

The door opened a little more. “Ain't got one.”

Nikki frowned angrily. “Well, can you at least show me where I am and how to get back to civilization?”

The man shook his head. “I'm bad with directions. Just beat it.”

Nikki shook her head defiantly. She jammed her thumbs into her belt to facilitate drawing her blades. “Look, asshole, I'm not leaving this porch until I've got a place to go!”

The door was flung open. The man stepped out. An ugly hand thrust forward to shove her down the steps.

And then Nikki was in motion, dipping under the arm to make it look as if she was being yanked inside while she whipped one of the knives from her belt and swept it across the man's throat. The momentum of the blow and shape of the
Kukhri
carried it in and through, so the man's head slid obscenely to the side, held to the neck by only a few sinews of flesh and cartilage. For a second his eyes bulged crazily. Then they glazed over as a fountain of blood spouted from the gaping hole.

The action outside had seemed all wrong to the lookout in the upstairs window, and he had just reached the staircase when Locke sprinted through the front door, a Mac-10 in either hand.

Rapid footsteps pounded the steps and Chris saw a man rushing down. The man was aiming his gun as he moved.

Chris dived to the cold floor and rolled. A whistle split the air followed by a horrible gasp. Locke gazed up to see the man glancing dumbfounded at the
Kukhri
blade buried in his midsection. He rocked backward, then forward, crashing through the banister and tumbling to the floor.

“Damn,” Nikki moaned, grabbing the Mac-10 from Locke, “the noise! We're blown!”

She took off for the staircase. Locke sped after her, finger against the trigger of his Mac-10. It was remarkably light but Chris knew its potential for devastation was incredible. Still, his bandaged left hand made grasping it difficult and he wondered what that might do to his aim.

On the third floor, the leader joined the two Chinese in the corridor. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. One of the Chinese pumped a shell into his twelve-gauge shotgun, tilted its barrel down, and squeezed the trigger.

The deafening blast blew out a good portion of the wall and showered Chris and Nikki with the splinters. Both went down hard, the fall saving them from the hail of fire that followed. Locke hugged the carpet but Nikki stayed in motion, firing her Mac-10 in a constant burst as she rolled. Bullets split the air around her, just missing. Nikki kept firing. From the top of the stairs came a scream and the sound of a thudding body amid the deafening roar of gunshots.

The leader watched the body of the Chink hit the floor, amazed at how the little bastard had managed to pump out three more rounds with his chest and guts blown apart. That made it two against two now, and the leader was thankful the guy on his side was another Chink.

Locke started up the stairs behind Nikki, gripping the Mac-10 as tight as he could with his bandaged hand, fighting to hold the barrel steady.

The leader slid out from behind the wall and fired three rounds down the steps, covering the second Chinese's move to a better position with his M-16. The Chinese tried to return the favor by firing a burst but it was too late. The leader's Magnum had clicked on an empty chamber, so when the figure rose before him he tried to duck away. He felt the hot pain burn his side and shoulder and crunched hard against the wall, sliding down to the floor. The figure was darting up the stairs now. It seemed to dance through the Chinese's hail of fire. A fucking broad, would you believe it? The leader's mind returned to his orders. Orders were everything, he reminded himself. Breathing heavily, the taste of blood thick in his mouth, the leader started crawling for the door. With a trembling hand he reached in his pocket for his final speed loader.

Nikki started her rush up the stairs just as Chris had almost caught up with her. Bullets blazed everywhere and he thought he heard her scream but he wasn't sure. The Mac-10's blasting led her way and out of the dimness a lithe figure darted down the corridor, firing a series of rounds behind him. Nikki took off after him, keeping her body low and tight against the wall, leery of turns and doorways. This was the last one left alive by her count.

The leader popped the speed loader home and snapped the cylinder closed. He had reached the door of the room holding the hostage, but the girl was too easy a target to let go. He aimed the Magnum as carefully as he could.

“Get down, Nikki! Get down!”

Locke was tugging the trigger of the Mac-10 even as he screamed the warning, spraying rounds toward the downed man holding the pistol. His bandaged hand couldn't control the barrel, though, and the bullets stitched a pattern in the wood above the figure as it pushed against a door and crawled forward into a room. Chris lunged after him, only to be tripped up by a bloody corpse that sent him sprawling to the floor.

Nikki, meanwhile, had gone down with Locke's warning, feeling the heat of the bullet pass just over her ear and dig into the wood above her. At that instant the lithe figure—a Chinese, she realized—rushed back toward her with his M-16 carving up the air before him.

Nikki swung her Mac-10 upward and fired in the same motion, catching the Chinese in the gut with a barrage of nine-millimeter rounds. Blood slid from the holes in his midsection. He slowed but kept coming, his finger clicking on an empty trigger, mad eyes clinging to life.

Suddenly a knife flashed in his hands in place of the rifle and Nikki fired the last burst from her Mac-10. The bullets tore much of his skull away, but still the blade was plunging down. Screaming, Nikki had risen to block it when the Chinese stiffened and collapsed atop her.