Stones of Fire

91

Ignoring the vibrating mobile phone clipped to his waistband, Cædmon urged Edie to keep moving, the convoy truck no more than thirty yards ahead of them.

‘Maybe you should answer it,’ Edie whispered, clearly unnerved by the call. ‘Otherwise they’ll know something’s up.’

Aware that the end result would be the same regardless of whether he answered the mobile or not, Cædmon made no reply as they continued to creep along at a rapid but cautious pace. A few moments later they were outside the watchtower, the wooden door wide open. Time in short supply, Cædmon yanked Edie into the building’s protective shadow, the two of them huddling together. He peered out, verifying that the truck was still parked on the other side of the tower.

‘I want you to go inside and, if at all possible, lock yourself into a room. I then want you to use Gallagher’s mobile to ring the authorities. Understood?’ When she nodded, he handed her the now silent phone. ‘Tell them you’re an American tourist and that you were abducted from your hotel room. Make no mention of the Ark of the Covenant.’

‘What about you?’

‘I am off to slay the dragon.’ As he spoke, he checked the clip on the Glock automatic. Sixteen rounds. He only needed three. One to blow out a tyre on the truck. One to take out Stanford MacFarlane. And a third bullet to fell the behemoth.

Hit those three, chaos would ensue and all MacFarlane’s well-laid plans would come to a halt.

He motioned to the door of the tower. ‘In you go.’

‘But —’

‘No buts,’ he interjected, placing a hand over her mouth. With the other hand, he gently pushed her through the open doorway. Then, hoping she would heed his orders, he pulled the door shut.

Stay safe.

His right arm cocked at the elbow, the Glock clutched in his hand, Cædmon made his way around the perimeter of the tower, his plan to approach the truck from the front, enabling him to take out the cab passenger, the driver and one of the front tyres. In that order. And in quick succession. He assumed that, as before, Braxton would be driving with the colonel next to him.

The plan was brazen. Reckless even. But it was the only option left to him. Under no circumstances could he permit MacFarlane to leave Malta alive. Too much was at stake. Too many lives were in the balance.

Suppressing his fear, he crept forward. The truck was no more than twenty yards away, just beyond the curve of the building.

Suddenly, he heard the roar of an engine. The truck was on the move. He fought the instinctive urge to fire his weapon.

He needed a clean shot. If he botched it, all would be lost.

Knowing he had only seconds, he charged out of the shadows, coming at the truck from an angle to avoid the headlights. Arms locked in a firing position, he found his first target — Stanford MacFarlane — took aim and pulled the trigger.

‘Bollocks!’ The Glock had jammed. He pulled back the slide on the top of the pistol.

The clatter of machine-gun fire erupted all around him.

Caught in a corona of bullets, he quickly chambered a round, shock and anger hitting him in equal measure.

A heartbeat later shock mutated into fear as he saw a shaky shaft of green light hit the truck’s windscreen.