Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 39

It had stopped snowing. Cold fog hugged the sides of the road. Dawn had just come. Ian had wanted to get on-site before light, to take advantage of the night, but it looked like he wasn’t going to make it. The drive from Warwick had been too long.

They were headed southwest on the A361 and less than three kilometers away from their objective when Ian saw the roadblock. He knew in the pit of his stomach it was there for him. Each driver had been issued a radio. He ordered the last van to pull up and continued to the roadblock with the rest of the vehicles. Two police sedans were pulled across the road. Three men in jackets stood to one side. They had pistols in holsters on their hips, which meant they weren’t just police. They all wore military uniforms, although their name tags had been removed. One was a large Irishman with the flattened nose of a professional fighter. Another was a young kid, his eyes wide and nervous. The last one was a mousy man with a weasel’s face.

Magerts pulled the BMW to a stop so its nose was a few feet from those of the police cars.

Both Ian and Magerts got out.

Ian decided to take the offensive. “Can you move these out of the way? I need to get through.”

The big Irishman stepped forward. “Easy there, mate. You’re not going nowhere.”

Ian allowed a look of surprise to cross his face. “What do you mean? We’re on a mission from the Queen. You stop us at your own peril.”

A slim mousy-haired man with glasses frowned. “What’s he talking about, Bill?” His ill-fitting uniform showed he was a lance corporal.

“Take it easy, Geoff. Man’s all bluff.” To Ian, Bill said, “Now run along. No one’s getting through this way for quite a while.”

“What’s going on?” Magerts asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” sniffed the man named Bill.

Ian addressed the mousy man and the young kid who hadn’t yet spoken. “You men are participating in an illegal action. Stopping men of the Queen in a time of war is treason.”

That had the intended effect. The other two men were suddenly very nervous. “Listen, we’re just here because Bill says—”

“Shut it, Tim. I told you, the man is all bluff.”

Ian shook his head. “No bluff here.” He pulled the Queen Letter out and proffered it for them to read but held on to it. As Tim and the mousy one read it, their eyes widened. “You’ll notice the official seal and Her Majesty’s signature.”

Tim backed away. “I don’t want to be part of this.”

“Like you have a choice, Tim Thompson.” Bill squared his shoulders and addressed Ian. “How do I know this is real?”

“Seriously? When’s the last time someone tried to get through a roadblock with a fake letter signed by the Queen?” Ian flicked a hand at the cars. “Now get out of the way.”

Even Bill seemed worried now. He’d begun to step forward when the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind him caused everyone to pause. It was a pickup with four men in the back and two in the cab. They got out when it came to a stop. The four in back were dressed all in black with body armor and balaclavas. One of the men in front was a civilian. The other was dressed in fatigues. An SAS patch and colonel’s rank stood out against the camouflage.

“What’s going on, Bill? These men refusing to turn around?” The colonel stared imperiously at Ian.

The four men in black brought up MP5s with silencers,

“They have a letter from the Queen which says they should be allowed to pass.”

The man held out his hand.

Ian merely stared at it.

The man snapped his fingers.

“To whom am I speaking?” Ian asked.

“Colonel Wilson Picket. Now give me the goddamned letter.”

Ian handed it over. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, Colonel.”

Colonel Picket glanced at the letter, then unceremoniously ripped it in two and dropped it to the ground. “It’s a fake.”

“So you’ve seen one of these before?” Ian struggled to keep the anger from his face.

This stopped Colonel Picket for a moment. But he recovered and said, “It’s obvious. Why does the Queen need someone like you to—”

Ian stuck out his hand, “Colonel Ian Waits. Section 9, Special Services.” He’d watched Colonel Picket’s eyes and it was obvious he’d heard the name before. Even the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “But you knew that already. Let’s cut the bullshit.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

“Someone convinced you to come out here and stop me. I’d like to know who!”

The colonel paused a moment, then shrugged. “You’ll know soon enough. Sir MacDonald swore out a warrant for your arrest.”

“Oh, he did, did he? On what grounds?”

“I’m not privy. All I know is he asked a few trusted men of Sheffield to assist him and he decided to call on me.”

“Us,” Bill added.

The colonel frowned at Bill’s addition but nonetheless concurred. “Us.”

Ian couldn’t help himself. He started to chuckle.

The colonel didn’t like being laughed at. “What’s so damned funny?”

“You’ve been played.” Ian pointed to the four men in black. “Those four are part of a group planning the overthrow of the British government. Sir MacDonald is part of it. A man of Sheffield or not, he’s hitched his tail to a kite being flown by men from an organization called the Red Grove who have brought back King Arthur and the Wild Hunt.”

Everyone was silent for a moment as the words sunk in.

Then they started laughing.

Ian waited for the laughter to die down. “As funny as it sounds, it’s true. I’d like to offer you and your men a chance to surrender to me now.”

Everyone began to laugh once more. Ian and Magerts joined in.

“You ever play poker?” Ian asked when they were done. The colonel responded, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Good, then I’ll see your squad and raise a platoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A squad of Royal Marines appeared out of the darkness behind the four men. A corporal called out, “Put down your weapons and lay flat on the ground. You so much as twitch I’ll have my men go full auto on your asses.”

The look on the big Irishman’s face was priceless.

But not as priceless as Ian wanted. He took one step forward and delivered a right hook to Colonel Picket’s jaw, delivered with all the outrage of a man trying to save his country only to be delayed by the grossly incompetent. The man fell hard to the ground and landed on his ass. “It means you lose and I win, you pompous ass.”