Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals (27 page)

Lara and Kennard lowered their guns at the same time. Kennard holstered his. Lara put hers back in her waistband.

“You didn’t ask me to lay my gun on the floor or hand it over,” said Lara.

Kennard pulled his gun. It was aimed at Lara’s head before hers was raised.

“OK,” said Lara. “You’ve made your point.” She put her gun back in her waistband, and Kennard holstered his.

“Talk,” said Lara.

“You’re going to have to give me the statue,” said Kennard.

“You son of a bitch,” said Lara. “That’s what Americans call people like you, isn’t it? No good sons of bitches?”

“That’s what they call us,” said Kennard.

“My father would have called you a bugger,” said Lara. “You’re an utter bastard. Ares was arrogant, and Christian Fife was desperate and angry and he made the mistake of hiring lunatics, but you...”

“Are you going to hand it over?” asked Kennard, holding out his hand.

Lara snapped the fastener on the holster and tugged on the ram statuette. It was jammed solidly into the pouch that was the wrong size and shape for it, and it took her a few moments to pull it free. She held it tightly in her hands for a second.

“You were deceitful,” said Lara. “You were ruthless and underhanded. Trinity, whatever it is, whoever it is… Trinity did a fine job of turning you into a thoroughly nasty piece of work. You’re a devious, unscrupulous, murdering bastard! And you’re not just killing me. Sam never did anyone any harm. She’s the funniest, brightest girl in the world, and you’re killing her too.”

Kennard said nothing.

“Take it,” said Lara, thrusting the ram statuette at him. “I hope you know what this is, and I hope you know what you’re doing. Bastard!”

Lara was still gripping the Golden Fleece statue so tightly that her knuckles were white and her hand was shaking ever so slightly.

Kennard took a couple of steps towards her and tried to gently take the little gold statuette out of her hands. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her, so she let it drop. He caught it and stepped away from her.

“It’s not what you think,” he said. “None of it is what you think. I understand why you hate me, but I’m here to do a job. I
do
know what this is, and I do know what I’m doing. Trinity trained me for this, and, believe me, I’ve been well-trained.”

“Trained to be a monster,” said Lara.

“After Yamatai, when I was assigned to this job, I studied you,” said Kennard. “I suggested you for recruitment, but you were turned down. I wish you could work with us.”

“Not in a million years,” said Lara. “I’d rather die.”

“I know,” said Kennard. “You were assessed as too maverick for the organisation, too independent, too free-spirited.”

“Too bloody honest,” said Lara.

“Perhaps,” said Kennard. “I want you to believe me when I tell you that Trinity is a good thing.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Lara. “Why was Greg following me in London?”

Kennard shrugged.

“We keep tabs on key people. Since I wanted to recruit you, and since Yamatai… When key people have meetings at high levels, we like to know about it,” said Kennard.

“My phone,” said Lara.

Kennard said nothing.

“Why did you send me to Menelaou? You got an innocent old man killed,” said Lara.

“He was a cold lead. We couldn’t get anything out of him, but I knew that if there was anything to know, you’d find it out,” said Kennard. “Like I said, you would have been a perfect recruit for Trinity.”

Kennard sighed.

“I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket,” he said. “I’m not pulling my gun.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the Queen Mary tin, and held it up to show Lara. It was battered and had what looked like a bullet hole in it.

“So, I did get shot, after all,” said Lara. “The tin took the blast.”

“It’s my job, our job, to clean up here,” he said. “I take the assignments I’m given, and I carry out my orders,” said Kennard. “Without you, we would never have recovered Menelaou’s artifact. It was part of the job.”

“And the next part of the job is to eliminate me?” asked Lara.

“I can’t leave any loose ends, Lara,” said Kennard.

“You gave up the right to call me Lara when you pulled a gun on me.”

“I’m not allowed to leave any loose ends,” Kennard said again.

“Then, you’d better kill me,” said Lara.

Kennard pulled his gun.

Lara pulled hers.

Kennard shot twice in quick succession.

Lara was down.

Kennard shot twice more.

Chapter 38

K
ennard took Lara’s gun and pulled the holster on its Velcro strip from her belt. He couldn’t leave any evidence. If she were found with a gun, or even a holster, the police would ask questions. She was a victim. That was all.

His work done, Kennard climbed over the ornate, pierced balustrade in the cloud of masonry dust that his bullets had kicked up, and made his way down the tower wall. He couldn’t take the stairs. He’d fired shots, and someone, possibly the policeman at the entrance to the chapel, would soon find his way up the tower.

Kennard dropped onto the roof behind the tower, and climbed down the first drainpipe he could find on the wall on the west side of Mob Quad. He was lucky to be shielded from Grove Walk by a wide stretch of grass and several mature trees in full leaf.

He jogged along Grove Walk, past several police cars towards Merton Street, which was cordoned off. No one would miss him. If he was ever asked, he could say that he slipped out after the gunshots were heard in the tower. He’d tried to leave once, after all. No doubt the policeman had that on record. Incidents like this were always chaotic. There were always anomalies, those loose ends he was so good at tying off.

Kennard Montez’s record was impeccable. His phone would show the text he’d cited if he was ever asked, but the chances were that he never would be.

Right now, he was just a student out for a run. He was an American and an athlete. There was nothing unusual about it.

A couple of minutes later, Kennard walked into The Bear Inn in Albert Street. Six students were sitting at two tables in a corner of the room. He lifted a hand to acknowledge them, and bought a soft drink at the bar. Then, he went to join them.

“Did you hear about what happened at your college this morning?” asked one of the girls, loudly enough for everyone in the bar to hear.

“I was there for a little while,” said Kennard, “but only after the police arrived. I don’t think anyone knows what went down though.”

They were talking for the benefit of the staff and the two or three other early customers.

“It’s over,” said Kennard quietly, as he held his drink in front of his mouth. “You can all stand down.”

“The object was retrieved?” asked one of the men from the other table, leaning in. “I hear there was a shooting,” he said more loudly.

“I heard that too,” said someone else. “There are police all over Merton Street.”

“The object was retrieved,” said Kennard, raising his glass again to shield his mouth. “The subjects were eliminated.”

“I never heard of anything like this happening in Oxford,” one of the Trinity men said, again for the benefit of the other people in the room.

“It happens all the time in the States,” said Kennard.

“It’s still shocking though,” said one of the girls, another American.

“It’s always shocking,” said the first man.

“It’s over?” asked the American girl in a whisper.

“It’s over,” said Kennard.

The seven students sat and talked and wondered about the incident for another twenty minutes or so, and then began to make their excuses to leave. All but one would leave Oxford before the end of the week. The last remaining man was still an undergraduate not yet fully recruited by Trinity, but he had a long career ahead of him with the organisation.

Lara Croft came around. Her head throbbed, and she felt sick and dizzy. She opened her eyes, but everything looked fuzzy and swirly, so she closed them again quickly, afraid that she might vomit.

She couldn’t think. She tried to breathe.

Why am I breathing,
she thought.
I shouldn’t be breathing, I should be
dead.

Lara’s mind suddenly swarmed with thoughts and feelings. She had been shot. Kennard Montez had shot her. He had taken the Golden Fleece. He had taken the beautiful little golden statuette of the ram out of her hands; he had told her terrible things, and then he had shot her.

She had tried to pull her gun on him, but she’d been too slow, and he had shot her.

An image flashed suddenly in Lara’s mind. She saw the blood blooming on Ares’s shirt. Kennard Montez was a good shot. Too good. How could he have missed her? He had only been standing a couple of metres away. Maybe he hadn’t missed.

Lara’s head swam, and blackness descended again.

Lara came around for a second time. She couldn’t bear to open her eyes again. Her head still ached horribly, and the sick feeling wouldn’t go away. After a moment, she remembered her thought process: Kennard, the gunshots. She lifted her hands tentatively. That was OK, so, carefully, she began to pat down her body, starting with her arms and legs. She couldn’t feel any blood. There were sore places, bruises perhaps, but she couldn’t locate any bullet wounds.

Lara realised how uncomfortable she was. She was slumped against something hard and lumpy. Nobbly edges of what felt like stone were digging into her neck and shoulders, and her head was at an uncomfortable angle. She had to move. She opened her eyes and blinked to try to settle her vision. Then, she realised that when she’d patted herself down she hadn’t felt her head.

Lara reached up and gently touched her head. The left side was wet. She knew that she’d been wearing a cap, but she couldn’t remember when or where she’d lost it. She didn’t want to look at her hand, but she knew that she should. As she thought, it was bloody. She groaned. No wonder her head hurt. She felt a small surge of adrenaline. Maybe she’d been shot after all.

Then, she felt foolish. If Kennard Montez had shot her in the head, she’d be dead.

Lara lifted her head away from its resting place and winced. Damn, it was sore. She rolled her head and neck forwards and took a deep breath. She still felt like vomiting. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. All she could see was a chunk of fallen masonry and the bluish-green of the copper roof turned to verdigris by time and the elements. The colour made her want to vomit more.

I’ve got a concussion,
thought Lara.
I’m alive. It’s just a
concussion.

Lara couldn’t look at the roof of the tower any longer. The colour was too much for her. She closed her eyes. Everything was too black. It wasn’t the darkness of closed lids in daylight. It was something else.

Lara Croft’s torso slumped forwards over her legs. She was out cold once more.

Lara awoke and opened her eyes. She didn’t know what she was looking at. The image was fuzzy and rotating, but it was brown and green and beige. It wasn’t the verdigris floor of the tower roof.

“Can you hear me?” said a soft, low voice. “Can you wake up for me, love?”

Someone’s calling me “love,”
thought Lara.
Who would call me “love”?

She started to open her eyes again, but the swimming of colours before her eyes was off-putting, so she closed them again. She couldn’t see who it was, but it must be a person.

“Can you tell me your name, love?” said the voice again.

“Lara,” said Lara. There didn’t seem any point not answering the question.

“Good girl, Lara,” said the voice. “I’m Matt. I’m with the ambulance service, and I’m going to look after you.”

Lara thought about nodding, but her head hurt.

“Do you know where you are, Lara?” asked Matt.

Merton,
thought Lara.
The Fleece, Kennard. Oh, no. I can’t do this now. I’ve got to get out of here. Wake up, Lara. Open your eyes and get
up!

Lara breathed hard. Then, she opened her eyes. She blinked a couple of times and tried to clear her vision. Gradually, the paramedic’s face swam into focus.

“My name is Lara Croft,” said Lara. “I’m at Merton College, Oxford. I’m on the chapel tower roof. I don’t know what happened. I think I fell. I have panic attacks.”

She looked around for clues. She saw the ridges on the copper floor, the raised joints where the roof panels had been sealed together. “I must have tripped on one of the ridges when I was hyperventilating. Clumsy of me. I banged my head.” She put her hand up to the left side of her head.

“Don’t touch,” said Matt, gently. “I’ll clean it up for you. It’d be better if we could get you off this roof. We’ll get a stretcher up here.”

“I can walk,” said Lara, hoisting herself up.

“You might have a concussion,” said Matt. “There must have been some dodgy masonry up here. It looks like a piece might have hit you.”

“I’m OK,” said Lara. “I think I just fainted. The panic attacks.”

“Sit,” said Matt. “Let me run some checks.”

The paramedic shone a light in her eyes and kept talking to her.

“Why are you here today, Lara?” he asked.

“I came to see Professor Babbington,” she said. “He’s professor of antiquities, and a family friend. I study archaeology.”

“How did you get on the roof?” he asked.

“I was frightened,” said Lara. “I just ran.”

“OK,” said Matt. “Your pupils are reacting. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” said Lara.

“Do you feel nauseous?” asked Matt. “You haven’t vomited?” He glanced around for signs that she’d been sick.

“No,” said Lara. “Really. I’m fine.”

“What about your vision?” asked Matt. “Any blurring or double vision?”

“No,” said Lara. Her vision had cleared. It wasn’t a lie.

“There are a lot of police milling around the college,” said Matt, “and quite a lot of people needing medical attention. I’d have to get someone else up here to get you stretchered out. It would take time and resources from other areas.”

“Don’t do that,” said Lara. “There’s no need, really.”

“It’s protocol,” said Matt. “I shouldn’t make an exception.”

“My name is Lara Croft,” said Lara. “I am at Merton College Oxford to visit Professor Babbington. There has been an incident involving gunfire. The police and ambulance are in attendance. I have panic attacks. I am sitting on the roof of the chapel tower, and by the way, the view from up here is stunning. I am talking to a lovely paramedic with brown hair and a green suit called Matt.”

She smiled. Her head throbbed, but she didn’t wince. She hoped it didn’t show.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just had a panic attack and bumped my head. You should be doing something more important than looking after me. Now can we get down from here, please?”