Last Man Standing

CHAPTER SEVEN

Drake slid the rented 4x4 into a spare bay and looked dubiously at the rusting pay-and-display machines.

“Wonder if we should pay?”

“We’re not tourists, Drake,” Dahl said severely.

“I bloody well know that.”

“Though by the way Drakey was driving,” Alicia put in breezily, “you might think otherwise.”

“Shut it,” Drake said. “Haven’t been behind the wheel for ages. Haven’t had a good car chase for… months. Remember?”

“Yeah. The American freeway and airfield chase.” Dahl smiled in fond memory. “Shelby Mustang ate you up that day.”

“Bollocks,” Drake said. “In any case, next time will be the decider.”

“You’re on. Once we sort out Coyote we’ll book a track day. You, me and two Aston Martins.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a Saab?”

“Can we stop talking about cars?” Mai spoke up. “And concentrate on the tiny problem at hand. You know — Coyote?”

Drake took another three-sixty perusal through the windows. “Well, this is Sunnyvale. Quiet town, which is good. Everything matches what we learned on Google Maps.” They had memorized the town’s layout prior to setting off and driven around it before parking. “Half an hour to kick off. We should get going.”

“And dark already,” Mai noted.

The team climbed out of their car, standing for a moment to take in the feel of the place. The setting was quiet, broken only by the occasional passing car or barking dog. No youths roamed the streets or lingered outside the local newsagents and takeaways. Roadways and streets were wide and obstacle free. Streetlamps were fully functional. One downside was that at least three different routes led to the castle, more to the train station. Stores and businesses closed early here, which the team counted as a plus. Market Street was built on a sharp incline, and contained the wrapped-up white hulks of many stalls. Alleys, dark narrow passageways and winding paths lay everywhere, havens for murderous assassins.

“This way.” Dahl marched off. Drake and the women followed. The classified ad had provided a telephone number in addition to the STD code, the digits of which were actually coordinates. Dahl would now locate them on his preloaded mobile app and pinpoint their rendezvous area. A faint breeze whispered around the foursome, cool and carrying with it the mingled scents of hearth fires, cooked dinners and beer from a nearby pub. Sounds surrounded them too — the laughter of locals chatting across a garden fence, the trundling noise of someone maneuvering their wheelie bin up a paved path, the rapid passing of a man on a fast bicycle, the loud booming of a TV show behind drawn, bright curtains.

Dahl led them past a mid-size roundabout and along a route that led out of town, noting the small police station and fire station that nestled in next to each other along the way. Alicia examined them with a critical stare.

“Let’s hope they’re filled with red-blooded, meat-eating, rugby-playing village boys,” she said. “I have a feeling we’re gonna be needing ‘em before the night’s out.”

Mai cackled. “Feeling a little horny, Taz?”

“Piss off.”

Dahl walked past the edge of town, until flat fields and hedgerows filled the landscape. Out here the wind picked up several notches and lost a few degrees of warmth.

“I’m not lost,” the Swede said as Drake opened his mouth. “As you know navigation is one of my many fortes.”

Drake held up his hands. He could already see their destination, unlike Dahl who had his nose almost buried in the smart phone. In the end, he just pointed.

Dahl nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I was headed next.”

At the center of a nearby field, two dimly lit cabins stood amidst a chain-link fence with builders’ wooden signs all around. It was a flippant disguise, but it would work for a night or two. Way beyond the paddock Drake saw a carnival outlined against the dark Ferris wheel and other rides slinging passengers around.

“I guess we know where most of the villagers went,” he said.

Dahl took point again. Drake was under the impression that the Swede wanted this business over with quickly so he could get back to his family. Twenty four hours, Drake reasoned. It wasn’t so long when you put it into perspective.

On the approach to the paddock’s locked gates, Dahl slowed. Men melted out of the night, weapons raised. One of them approached.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Drake shrugged. “We’re here now.”

“Follow me.”

They were led through the gates and into a sparse cabin. A pockmarked wooden desk held papers and other contraptions that were being closely guarded. The man walked around the table.

“All right. Listen up. Last Man Standing is kill or be killed. Only one person can win. Got it?”

“We hear you,” Mai said evenly.

“As for other competitors… there’s Vincent, an undefeated assassin also known as The Ghost. Gretchen, a Russian special-forces killer. Blackbird — once of Mossad and their best. Need I say more? Duster, a Cockney lunatic. Santino, a nasty piece of work from Mexico City. Oh, and Gozu…” the hard-faced man cast a faintly amused glance toward Mai. “I’m told to tell you he’s the clan’s second Grand Master assassin. And finally, we have the best of the best. Possibly on level par with the Coyote herself, though never let her know I said that.” The man winked. “We have the most notable French contract killer of all time — Beauregard Alain.”

“Shit, you’re kidding me.” Alicia said. “I’ve heard of him.”

Drake nodded. “That bell end escaped an entire SAS unit fifteen years ago. Killed two men in the process. Hope he’s slowed down a bit.”

“Believe me,” their greeter assured them. “He hasn’t.” He handed out sheets of paper with facts, figures and mugshots attached. “Everyone has a set of these. Learn their faces well so you don’t off any of these poor townsfolk tonight, eh? And by ‘off’ I mean—”

“We know what you mean,” Dahl growled. “As if you care about these people one bit.”

The man shrugged indifferently. “I get more money if this whole thing goes under the radar, that’s all. Now, we have placed several…” he paused, “… preventative measures hidden around the town. Snipers. CCTV cameras. Mines.” He coughed.

“Mines?” Mai exploded. “Are you crazy?”

“Raving fuckin’ bonkers, lady. But that’s part of my charm, and part of the deal. Don’t try to leave or get a message out. We will know. Finish the goddamn tournament. That’s why you’re here. Now — on to the technical stuff.”

The man pushed several items across the table toward them.

“Basic Bluetooth-equipped burner phones so we can get in touch with you. Take only the one with your name on it. Look often for text messages as well as listening for calls. Yep, it could get you killed in an awkward moment, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Yellow teeth grinned sickeningly from between thin, cracked lips.

“This is a chip that will monitor your vital signs,” the man went on. “Geoffrey here is going to implant you with it.”

Drake stared at the small injector gun and its tiny dart. He shook his head. Alicia and Mai protested more vociferously and even Dahl looked uncomfortable.

“I didn’t make the rules,” the man said. “I just enforce them.”

Alicia stalked around the desk. “Let me be clear, fuckhead. No prick’s going inside me that I don’t want there.”

“No prick,” the man said. “Just a jet of air.”

“Not interested,” Alicia said.

“All right.” The man pushed across a tangle of straps and metal boxes. “Tie them tightly to yourselves. The signal will transmit through Bluetooth. If they come off it thinks you’re dead, which means in relation to the tournament that you are dead. And you will be killed by any man — on sight. We can tell the difference between real death and the removal of the monitoring system.”

“Much better,” Alicia muttered.

“Guns?” The man sighed. “Let’s see them.”

Drake gave him an innocent look. “This is the UK. Guns are illegal.”

Wands were passed over their bodies. When nothing bleeped or shrieked the man eyed them with a kind of amazed confusion. “You haven’t brought any weapons?”

“Why?” Dahl rumbled. “You know who we are. Do you really think we need them?”

The man blinked hard. “Okay then. Onward. We’re almost done here. For information we have a real army of men surrounding this town, folks. I can’t warn you enough about trying to escape or get a message out. A late entrant, guy called Crouch who you know, might be a little late to the party. But he’s a lucrative takedown. Almost—” the man eyed Drake. “As lucrative as you. Be warned. Beauregard Alain will care only about the big money.” He indicated the final piece of equipment on the table, a chunky black box with a large screen. “Nope, it’s not an ancient iPad, it’s a location device.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping that?” Alicia said in a droll tone.

“Not this one, love. It’s a—” he made a face, “cheap bit of crap to be honest. It shows the locations of you and your erstwhile competitors. Only thing, our resident genius tech engineer,” he nodded to a closed door, “has installed a very clever modification to the program. It refreshes not in real time but once every twelve minutes. You understand?”

Drake nodded. “Keeps it interesting.”

“Doesn’t it?” The man grinned. “Oh, and two final things.”

“Is it the location of the food tent?” Alicia asked quickly. “I’m bloody starving here.”

“The Coyote will enter the competition when ten hours have elapsed. She is the most lucrative target of all. Her choice. And an extra little challenge when she joins — she will reveal the locations of four special nano-vests attached to four citizens around the town. The vests will be wired to explode within a short time limit. The rest is up to you.”

Drake regarded the man with hatred. “When this is done we will come for you.”

“Well, at least somebody cares about the citizens,” the man said. “All the other competitors just laughed.”

“When do we start?”

“It’s almost eight.” The man referred to his watch. “Best get going.”