Scarecrow Returns

SHANE SCHOFIELD stepped up onto the balcony, having climbed the steel stairs from the level below.

Calderon couldn’t believe it. And for the first few moments, neither could anyone else in the gathered group of Thieves.

Schofield stood there, stock-still, looking like something out of a horror movie: bare-chested and barefoot, he was covered in sweat and water and foul scorch-marks, bloody scratches and open wounds. His jaw was clenched tight and his bloodshot, scarred eyes glared at Calderon with murderous rage.

Not only had he returned from the grave, he had returned from it armed: he held a Steyr TMP machine pistol in one hand and a SIG-Sauer P-226 pistol in the other.

As he’d stepped up from the stairs, he had placed something on the floor beside him, before taking the SIG-Sauer from its back. It now stood there next to him like a loyal dog.

A little silver robot.