The Excalibur Codex

XLI

It would be a messy death. Essentially the sabre is a giant meat cleaver and whoever first made the metal connect with the meat would win. Jamie had two options: play for time or go for the kill. Under the circumstances he decided on the second.

They stood ten feet apart on the hexagonal tiles of the entry hall, with Steele facing west and Jamie east, towards the tourist entrance where the two suits of armour decorated the wall. As Adam Steele brought his sabre up to his face in a formal salute Jamie launched into a jump lunge with his blade at full extension. The thrust would have skewered Steele through the middle if the financier hadn’t somehow managed to get his blade down for a lightning parry that beat Jamie’s point to one side. Steele followed up with a scything back-cut designed to take out his opponent’s throat. Jamie preempted the move with a piece of fancy footwork that took him out of range, but he still felt the whisper of the blade as it hissed past his face. Steele stepped back, his eyes almost glowing with excitement despite the close call.

‘That was a bit out of order, old boy.’

‘It’s not a fucking game, old boy.’ To emphasize the point Jamie chopped at the grinning face, forcing Steele to parry, and then met the inevitable riposte with one of his own. They exchanged cuts, taking each other’s measure and Jamie gradually became more familiar with the weight and balance of his sword. Every meeting of the blades was accompanied by a resounding clang that echoed round the panelled halls and vaulted ceiling. In an official bout, the referee would have called stop at the end of the inconclusive exchange and they would have retreated to their own ends of the mat. But this wasn’t an official bout. And there were no rules. A parry pushed Jamie’s sabre down to the left and Steele took advantage of the opening to dance to his own left, bringing his blade scything round in a terrible arc that should have severed Jamie’s spine. The initial movement had been designed to force the younger man to circle right, following the attack, but Jamie Saintclair had a few tricks of his own. Instead, he let the momentum of his sword carry him left, in a pirouetting turn that allowed him to catch Steele’s blade on his, almost behind his own back. By the time the financier had recovered Jamie was facing him. Again Steele danced left, looking for an opening, but Jamie’s sabre point followed him all the way, and his eyes never left his opponent’s. By now both men were breathing hard and sweat was running from Steele’s thick, dark hair into his eyes and he dashed at them with the back of his hand to clear his vision. Steele’s movement had taken him full circle for no advantage and Jamie had held the centre ground and expended less energy. Round One to the challenger.

As if by common assent each man took a step back, attempting to gauge the extent of the other’s weakness. The anticipation in Steele’s eyes had been replaced by a glaring, almost maniacal, hatred. Jamie met his stare with what he hoped was a look of implacable resolve, tinged with just the slightest hint of defeat. He saw the other man dart a glance towards Trevor at the door, and he knew that all it would take was a nod and he’d be fighting with a bullet in his back, which would make things tricky. He was depending on Adam Steele’s need to look like a winner in front of Charlotte and his men. Having your opponent shot was effective, but it smacked of cheating, and winners didn’t have to cheat. What he had to do was keep making Steele think he was going to win. Right up till the moment he lost.

A second later the first part of that strategy looked simple enough. Without warning Steele feinted to his left, drawing Jamie’s guard with him. But the movement was a cover for the attack that had almost taken Jamie by surprise the last time they’d met on the fencing mat. The financier bounded forward with the sabre at full stretch and aimed directly at Jamie’s heart. This time there was no time for any elaborate counter. He could almost feel the three feet of steel piercing his heart as his blade came up to meet the other man’s. The sheer strength of his wrist forced the attack to his left, but not far enough because he felt as if a hot poker had been rammed into his side below the ribs. The agony was almost numbing, but instinct maintained his advance and he stepped inside the blade and ducked forward to butt Steele in the face. It wasn’t the perfect blow, and Jamie’s forehead struck just above and to the left of Steele’s nose, but it stunned the businessman. He reeled back with his left hand against his eye and the sword swinging wildly to meet Jamie’s counter. But the younger man’s movement was slowed by the waves of pain coming from his side. He stepped back out of range and the hand he clutched to the wound came away dark red. When he looked up, Steele’s eyes were wild and blood streamed from a cut on his right eyelid. Jamie shook his head to clear it and charged, all pretence of swordsmanship gone, the blade coming up to hack at his enemy’s face. Steele caught the sword on his own and responded by ramming his point at Jamie’s eyes.

For almost a minute, they matched each other blow for blow and strength for strength, each meeting of the curved blades an assault on the ears and accompanied by the animal grunts of the men wielding them. From another world, Jamie heard Charlotte’s ringing laughter as a cut almost took the head from his shoulders, but she went quiet when he stepped inside with a lunge that sliced the flesh of Adam Steele’s shoulder. Steele screamed in agony but he had the presence of mind to step forward and his sabre point sought Jamie out. By good fortune Jamie’s momentum had already taken him inside the danger and he found himself chest to chest with the man who had tried to destroy him. Steele’s body reeked of a bitter sweet mélange of expensive cologne, sweat and fear. His face was in Jamie’s, lips drawn back from the teeth in a feral snarl, one eye already swollen almost shut, and the skin blood red with effort and fury. Unable to use the sword he wrapped his arms round Jamie and the art dealer felt himself lifted off his feet. Helpless, Jamie heard his enemy laugh as he fought the deadly embrace. He battered his head forward, but this time Steele was too clever for him and he’d already come in too close for the blow to be effective. They crashed against a table and something china smashed to the floor sending shards spinning under their feet. Steele’s strength seemed unaffected by the wound in his shoulder and Jamie screamed as his enemy rammed him back against the massive stone fireplace, sending a lance of pain through his injured side. He began to fade and he knew if he didn’t break the hold soon, Steele would throw him to the ground and he’d be too weak to defend himself. A piece of wooden furniture splintered under their combined weight and he felt his oppressor stagger. He attempted another feeble butt and Steele laughed again, but this time a warm piece of flesh brushed Jamie’s lips and hung there tantalizingly.

In desperation he sank his teeth into the tender flesh of Adam Steele’s ear. Now it was Steele’s turn to shriek as Jamie worked at the ear like a hyena tearing the flesh from a dead antelope. Steele loosed his grip and tore himself away, leaving a hunk of his flesh in the other man’s mouth. Jamie spat out the vile piece of meat and lurched after his opponent. By now there was no Fiona or Charlotte or Trevor, only the two men fighting for their lives. He swung and missed, the weight of the sword almost carrying him over as it passed Steele’s shoulder to strike a marble statue of the house’s owner with a terrible mistuned clang. His opponent saw his chance and tried to ram his point into Jamie’s defenceless guts. Jamie saw the sword as if in slow motion, the bright streaks of the honed edge, the twinkle of reflected light on the point. He was exhausted, but so was Steele. Somehow his legs found the strength to sidestep the blow and as the sword slipped past he brought his own blade up to counter-attack. But there was no blade, only a jagged eight-inch stump.

He heard Steele’s manic laughter at the knowledge his enemy was disarmed, Charlotte’s scream of delight and Trevor’s shout of, ‘Finish him, boss.’ But even as the words reached his ears he darted forward, knowing Steele was off balance and this was his only chance. With the last ounce of his strength he rammed the saw-toothed edge of broken metal two-handed up under Adam Steele’s chin and felt the awful crunch as it broke through flesh and muscle and cartilage, scraped against bone, tore through palate. Steele gurgled and wriggled, his mouth pleading and eyes gaping with shock and terror. Jamie snarled like a dog as he forced the terrible spike upwards until it reached the brain and the eyes suddenly turned puzzled. Finally, Jamie hauled the stump of sword clear and blood pulsed from the wound as Adam Steele collapsed forward, taking the art dealer with him and covering him with gore.

As he struggled to free himself, he heard Charlotte scream and by the time he managed to get to his feet she had her pistol aimed at his head. Very deliberately, the muzzle dropped until it was pointed at his groin.

‘You bastard,’ she snarled.

A blur of movement from somewhere to her right distracted her and Trevor’s shouted warning came too late for her to react to the mini-whirlwind of Fiona Maxwell, who launched herself screaming at the other girl. Charlotte went down, cursing under a hail of blows, and Jamie turned his attention to the final threat. Trevor was still by the door where he’d been throughout the fight and he had his pistol aimed unerringly at Jamie’s head. He was a professional and the smile on his face said he wasn’t going to miss.

Jamie knew he was dead, but still the fighter in him had to try. ‘It’s finished, Trevor,’ he gasped. ‘Without Adam Steele whatever you’ve been plotting is never going to happen. You can walk away now.’

Trevor’s expression didn’t even alter. ‘I don’t think so. There are plenty more where he came from. Anyway,’ he touched the back of his neck, ‘I owe you for this. No hard feelings, old son.’

Jamie recognized the moment thought turned to action. He knew he’d see the flash of the muzzle before he heard the sound and felt the bullet hit. But somehow Trevor’s resolve faded, the gun dropped and the black droplet that had magically appeared below his eye became a well gushing blood. Without a sound his legs buckled and he dropped to the floor.

Jamie slowly swivelled to find Charlotte staring at him with a look of puzzlement and her pistol aimed at his head. It all seemed a bit unfair, really.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, dear.’ The words seemed to come from inside him, but it wasn’t his voice, it was a commanding voice, more mellow and terribly upper class. His last thought before he collapsed was that maybe it belonged to God.

‘You were hoping I’d kill him,’ Jamie’s voice emerged as a soft croak. ‘Or that he’d kill me.’

The Director General of the Security Services’ nose twitched like a suspicious rabbit as he looked down at the body of Adam Steele and prodded it with his foot.

‘I’m afraid we’re not that devious, Mr Saintclair. The reason for our untimely arrival was that we got lost, sometimes it’s as simple as that.’ He sniffed. ‘Mind you, I’m not saying it’s not convenient. Adam Steele will become the sixth victim of a terrorist atrocity that unfortunately consumes his house and five other upstanding members of society at ten o’clock this evening.’

‘Is one allowed to ask who they are?’

‘No, but I’m sure you’ll read the obituary of the outspoken MP and former Defence Secretary Colin Franklin in the newspapers in the next few days. Unfortunately, there’ll also be one of our own. A young man with a bright future. SAS hero and all that. Adam Steele managed to seduce him with his awful vision.’ He sighed and his gaze wandered over the weapons and suits of armour until they settled on the skull of the unfortunate aurochs. ‘His time was past, you see. All of their times were past. They’d never have done it.’ He sounded as if he might have been trying to convince himself. ‘The General they thought was their trump card came to us as soon as they approached him. That’s when we put in Gault.’ He looked up. ‘You didn’t know? Oh, yes, Gault was one of ours. The only problem was he couldn’t penetrate the inner circle. So we had to bide our time.’

‘And then the M25 happened.’

He nodded. ‘We were under pressure to move. To make mass arrests. But Gault persuaded us to hold our hand. If he came back with Excalibur, Steele would give him access to the inner circle and we’d know everything.’

A figure appeared in the doorway. Dark haired, tanned and compact in his blue bomber jacket. ‘Hello, David,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘I wondered when you’d turn up.’

‘Is she here?’

The DGSS called to someone in the armoury and Charlotte Wellesley appeared in handcuffs between two men. She looked resentfully from Jamie to the Israeli and Jamie had a moment of, not quite doubt, but perhaps regret, which he swiftly brushed from his mind. She was responsible for the deaths of too many people to deserve his sympathy.

‘We have a place out in the Negev,’ the Mossad man said conversationally. ‘An oven in summer, an icebox in winter. You will spend many happy hours there with the old ladies of Baader Meinhof and Hamas, and never see sunlight again.’

She started screaming as they led her away.

‘Just out of interest,’ the DG asked conversationally, ‘when did you realize she was a bad ’un?’

‘Not soon enough.’ Jamie shook his head in dismay at his own blindness. ‘I think Charlotte Wellesley is the most truly evil person I’ve ever met. Keeping me close was like a game for her. I was her trophy, to be used for her amusement. A constant reminder of what she’d made me suffer.’ The memory of all her victims made him grimace. ‘But she wasn’t a good enough actress to carry it off and it was the fact that we were so close that betrayed her. I think I had my first suspicions when we were in Corfu. After that, it took a long time for everything to come together, but by the time we were in New York and the laptop was used to try to frame me for the M25 attack, I became certain she was linked to Abbie’s last message.’ He shrugged and the other man stared at him. ‘febluis. At first I thought it was code, then I understood it was much simpler than that. You see, she was trying to tell me that the person who killed her was female, and in a certain light I realized that Charlotte Wellesley had the most startling blue eyes.’